Theater of War: Act Four, Scene Two
by TOW
Summary: Evil is unspectacular and always human; and shares our bed and eats at our own table." W. H. Auden. And is now at Stalag 13. The conclusion of Act Four.
1. Chapter 1

Act Four

Scene Two

"Evil is unspectacular and always human; and shares our bed and eats at our own table." W. H. Auden. And is now at Stalag 13.

Certain characters have been borrowed with permission from the writings of Mel Hughes (_Dress Rehearsal_) and LaVerne Cash (_New Beginnings_). If you are interested in reading those works, please email me.

Theater of War: Act Four was originally published as a digest-sized book zine in 2003. It is an amateur publication for the enjoyment of fans. The copyright covers only original material, and in no way intends to infringe upon the privileges of the holders of copyrights, trademarks or other legal rights for the _Hogan's Heroes_ universe.

Act Four, Scenes 1 and 2, thus far, is the last written Act in the HH saga. Eventually, there will be an Act 5 and an Act 6.

If you have any questions or comments about the stories thus far, feel free to email me. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Chapter 1

"Meine Herren." Kommandant Wilhelm Klink nodded to the men assembled in the meeting room on the top floor of the Hauserhof Hotel — Bürgermeister Rudolf Scheinfeld, Kurt Hausner, Monsignor Jürgen Geisler, Chief of Police Werner Krueger and Doctor Ernst Bauer.

There were a few moments of small talk as the men greeted each other.

Then the Bürgermeister got down to business. "Herr Kommandant, you wished to see us."

"Yes." Klink sat at head of the table. "You men are the leaders of Hammelburg. I do not want you or the town to be surprised."

"Surprised about what, Herr Kommandant?" Hausner asked.

"The Allies are not far away," Klink said bluntly. "They are now north and south of Düsseldorf. They have reached Köln, and it is only a matter of time before they cross the Rhine."

There were grim nods among the men.

"We understand the fighting is terrible," Geisler said worriedly.

"The fighting cannot reach us surely," Doctor Bauer said.

"With the roads blocked, we hope not. But one never knows, " Krueger said. "Is that what you wish to talk about, Kommandant?"

Klink nodded. "Yes. Changes are coming whether we wish it or not. To expedite the change here, I have decided to surrender Stalag 13 to Colonel Hogan."

Silence greeted his words. An odd mix of emotions crossed the faces of his listeners — relief, surprise and worry. They all knew that the surrender of his command without orders or a fight would guarantee Klink an immediate execution if any outsiders learned of it.

"I also think," Klink continued after a moment, "that it would be wise if the town did the same."

A longer silence now, finally broken by Hausner. "I do not know what to say."

"Say yes," Bauer said dryly.

"What?" Scheinfeld managed to say.

"It is the wisest course of action," Bauer continued.

"But, Berlin — " began the Bürgermeister.

"Berlin does not care about Hammelburg," Krueger said bluntly.

"We are still surrounded by the Fifth Panzer Army," started Hausner. "They could decide to reopen the roads and send troops — "

"They won't," Klink's quiet voice informed them. "Chief Krueger is correct. Hammelburg has lost whatever importance it once had; Berlin is not concerned with us."

"But if German troops come here?" Hausner persisted.

"With the last link to Düsseldorf and the western front destroyed and the pass and roads connecting us to the east blocked by the recent air raid, we are an island in the middle of the war. A dead-end area that has no resources. However, if by some chance Field Marshall Model does decide to open the pass and the roads, the camp has twenty-five hundred men in it. A reasonable number to defend the town and the camp against those who would be foolish enough to enter the area. And," his eyes swept over them, "I am certain there are others who are willing to defend the town."

"Yes," murmured the Bürgermeister. He was well aware of the amount of resistance activity in his town.

"When do you plan to do it, Herr Kommandant?" Geisler asked.

"I intend to talk to Colonel Hogan tonight. Tomorrow, my men will be given a choice as to whether they wish to stay or not. And on the morning of the seventh of March, I will surrender the camp."

"You have not given us much time, Herr Kommandant," Scheinfeld said.

A thin smile. "Surely you have already considered such a course of action."

"Yes, we have," Hausner admitted. "But we did not think it would be so soon."

"Do you wish time to think about it?" Klink asked.

"What is there to think about?" Bauer said. "We either surrender or we wait and let others make the decision. Then it will be much harder on us. Colonel Hogan is a fair man; he will deal justly with us."

"And those who come after him?" Hausner asked. "The Allies may not keep him in charge."

"That is a possibility," Klink conceded. "At least they will not come ready to destroy you."

There was silence for a time in the room. Then Klink stood. "I have said what I came to say, meine Herren. The choice is now yours."

"What time will you speak to Colonel Hogan, Herr Kommandant?" Scheinfeld asked.

"At 2000."

The Bürgermeister also stood. "You will have our decision by then, Herr Kommandant."

Klink nodded. "Guten Tag, meine Herren."

The door closed behind him.

...

It was eight in the evening when a knock sounded on the barracks' door. Hogan and his men were surprised when Klink, accompanied by Doctor Bauer, Bürgermeister Scheinfeld and Kurt Hausner walked into the barracks.

"Evening, Kommandant," Hogan said cheerfully. "Gentlemen."

Klink didn't return his smile. "May we talk to you, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan grinned. "It's your camp, Kommandant."

Klink didn't respond to his tone. "Alone, please."

His soberness finally got through to Hogan. "This way."

Hogan led them into his room, curious eyes following them.

"What's on your mind, Kommandant?" Hogan asked as he closed the door.

There was no joy, no humor in Klink's eyes, just an odd determination. "Colonel Hogan," he began tonelessly, "I wish to discuss the surrender," an odd break in his voice, "of Stalag 13."

Hogan stood still, almost dazed. In the past, how often had he dreamed of this moment! How often had he fantasized what he would say, what he would do when Klink said those words to him. Now, it was here . . .

And he had nothing to say.

Was it because he knew who Klink was? Partly. But also because he now realized how painful a decision it was. Even for Klink. Klink hated the Nazis, had hated them from the beginning. He had fought against them, risked and suffered torture at their hands. Still, this camp was Klink's command. More so than at any other time in its history. And it hurt to surrender his men, his command, to another.

Hogan nodded soberly. "When?" His voice had cracked; he cleared his throat.

There was relief in Klink's eyes; he'd expected Hogan to react, if not with glee, with a joke about the situation.

"I would like to give my men a choice," Klink said, "as to whether they wish to stay or not. I would like to tell them tomorrow and surrender the camp on the seventh at nine in the morning. Whoever wishes to leave may do so before then."

Hogan nodded. "I can live with that. And the terms of the surrender?"

"The terms," Klink almost winced, "are for you to decide, Colonel Hogan."

"The terms are unconditional surrender," Hogan said.

Klink nodded soberly, expecting no less. "Agreed." And hesitated. Then, "As the commanding officer of Stalag 13, I take full responsibility for any and all past actions of the men under my command."

"Kommandant," Hogan started, "that isn't necessary."

Klink's eyes met his. "Yes, it is, Colonel Hogan."

"All right, Kommandant," Hogan said slowly. And looked at the others.

"I am here," Scheinfeld answered his unspoken question, "to say that the town of Hammelburg is prepared to surrender to you after you accept the surrender of Stalag 13."

"The same terms?"

The men nodded; it was more difficult than any of them had envisioned. "The same terms."

"All right. I would like you three and anyone else you think should be here in the camp before nine on the seventh."

"Agreed, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan nodded. "Anything else, gentlemen?"

The men shook their heads.

"Then I have a favor to ask, Kommandant," Hogan said. "I would like to talk to the captains tonight. It will mean extending the lights out."

"Agreed, Colonel," Klink said in a toneless voice.

"Thank you, Kommandant."

A small bow from Klink. "Good night then, Colonel."

A "good night" from Bauer, Hausner and Scheinfeld as well.

Hogan expelled his breath after the men left.

Almost immediately, his men crowded into the room.

"What's up, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan didn't answer directly. "I want to see Witton, Martin, Mitchell and Warren now. Go get them. Baker, I want to call London right now."

Curious, but doing as they were ordered, the men scattered.

Hogan and Baker disappeared into the tunnel.

...

Hogan, with a happy Baker listening in, explained the situation to London.

"Good show, chaps!" The voice on the other end was jubilant.

Hogan smiled thinly. "The question is, what happens next?"

"We'll inform the higher ups, of course. They'll want to talk to you tomorrow about what will happen. Until then, Colonel Hogan."

The radio went silent.

"You don't look too happy, Colonel," Baker observed. "I thought you'd be jumping for joy when this happened."

Hogan smiled thinly. "I was just remembering how I felt when I had to surrender. Not a pleasant feeling."

"But," Baker was confused, "Klink's on our side."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, he is. But that still doesn't take the sting out of it. This camp has been his baby for almost five years. And now he has to give it up. Like I said, not a pleasant feeling."

"What do you think London will do, Colonel?"

"I have no idea," Hogan admitted. "But I just hope they know what they're doing. And, Baker, for now, mum's the word."

"Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 2

In London, Hogan's message was passed to Brigadier General Cameron Forbes(1) who grinned as he read it. So, that idiot Klink decided to give up. He'd bet Hogan was happy about that.

The message went to Forbes's superior, Major General J. J. Gaines. Stalag 13. He grunted in acknowledgement. He was under orders to route messages he received about that particular stalag to a certain high-level office.

The message reached that office.

"So, he decided to do it after all," said the sober looking man in a three-star general's uniform.

"Once he made sure the camp was safe, he probably figured it was time to let go," said his aide, a harried captain. "

"I suppose. I wonder if he'll stay," Lieutenant General Edward Edmondson said in a distracted voice. "Oh well, I guess he'll let us know soon enough."

"What do we do about the camp, sir?" Captain Elliot Mason asked. "Keep Hogan and his men in charge?"

Edmondson smiled. "I don't think Hogan knows much about running a camp or a town. His skills lie in other directions."

"True, sir. But he'd have help."

"What if he decides to leave and takes Hogan with him? Not to mention that camp is smack dab in the middle of Model's 300,000-man army group. Hogan's a flyer, not admin or staff." He swiveled his chair around to face a map of Germany. "No. Have G-1 appoint an administrator for the camp and the area. Let Gaines know. And make sure they route the name up to me, will you? Sometimes, G-1 forgets to let me know what's going on."

Mason grinned. "Yes, sir."

Still smiling, he left to make the call.

...

General Gaines grunted as he hung up the telephone and glanced at his watch. Late again. Well, couldn't be helped. He picked up the phone.

"Get me G-1, Acker . . . Yes, I know what time it is," he said irritably. "There's bound to be someone there. Let them do some work for a change instead of sleeping . . . Yes, I'll hold."

Captain Martin Ricks was talking quietly on the telephone in the otherwise empty office.

"Look, Frank, you've got to lay low. And tell the others as well . . . I know you think it's a big joke," he said with some anger. "But I've seen the complaints . . . Yeah, I lifted them . . . No, you're not, damnit! . . . Okay, sorry, Frank. But I don't think it'll blow over. Not this time . . . Look, Frank . . . Okay, okay . . . Yeah . . . Talk to you later."

He hung up the phone. "Not if I can help it," he muttered beneath his breath. What a mess he'd gotten himself into. If anyone ever found out . . .

The telephone rang. For a moment, he was tempted not to answer it. But he was already in deep with the CO.

"Personnel," he said. "Captain Ricks here . . . General Gaines. A pleasure, sir. What can I do for you?" he said in his most obliging voice. "An administrator and staff? May I ask for what, sir? . . . A POW camp in the middle of Germany?" he managed to choke out. "That's highly unusual, sir . . . Yes, sir, I understand, sir." He didn't, but whatever the brass wanted . . .

Then it hit him, and he smiled. "I think I have just the man you want, sir. Colonel Francis Randall. He was in charge of a similar area in North Africa and also did a stint in France . . . Yes, sir. Very experienced . . . Yes, sir, I'll get the paperwork together and have it in your office tomorrow morning . . . Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He hung up with a smile still on his face. _Yeah, that'll work. It'll get Frank out of England, away from any nosy investigators. And it'll get him out of my hair. Who knows, maybe the krauts'll get efficient and invade the area. A dead Frank Randall would be good for me too. _

_..._

Hogan, to the annoyance of his men, talked to the captains alone.

"Then we're agreed?" Hogan asked them.

"Agreed, sir," Witton said. "Since Klink's men know how to run the camp, we keep them in place under our supervision."

Martin nodded. "Seems to be the most practical thing to do."

Hogan straightened up. "Okay, gentlemen, if there are no more questions, I'll say good night."

"Good nights" echoed from the men as they left the room.

Witton was the last. "For someone who just had the camp handed to him, you don't look too happy, Colonel."

A wry smile. "Odd, isn't it. I'd been looking forward to this since the day I got here. Now . . . " He shrugged.

"It had to come, Colonel. Everyone knew it."

"Yeah. I guess part of it is I don't know what London's going to do."

Hogan found out the next day. And he couldn't say he was happy about it. He sighed as he signed off the radio.

"I don't believe they're doing that," Baker said quietly.

Hogan shrugged. "What do we know about running a camp? They have to give the guys in admin something to do. Well, get everyone down here. Might as well tell them the good news."

...

"Klink's surrendering?" Newkirk said incredulously.

"Yup," Hogan said. "Tomorrow morning at nine."

Kinch grinned. "That's the best news I've heard in years."

"It sure is," Carter said enthusiastically. "That means it's almost over, doesn't it?"

"Well, for us," Hogan said dryly. "For the rest of the war, there's still a way to go."

"And the town is surrendering as well?" LeBeau asked.

"Right after Klink does."

"That's the good news, sir," Kinch said. "So what's the bad news?"

"The bad news," Hogan said, "is that London is sending an administrator for the area and the camp."

"You'll still be in charge, right, sir?" Newkirk said.

Hogan shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"They can't do that!" Carter exclaimed. "This is our camp; we should be in charge."

"Well, they're doing it," Hogan said. "And they've got a point. What do we know about running a camp? And a town?"

"We could learn," LeBeau said.

Hogan shook his head. "It's too late for that. He'll be here on the tenth. Colonel Francis Randall and his staff."

...

Colonel Francis Randall saluted General J. J. Gaines smartly.

_Too smartly, _thoughtGaines._ Just a bit too smartly. And how do you fault a man for that? _

"Have a seat, Randall," Gaines said, not at all sure he approved of the officer G-1 assigned to the post. Randall's security clearance was a lot lower than he'd expected, which meant that Hogan would have to decide what to tell Randall about his operation.

"Thank you, sir," Randall said. He took off his cap and sat down, the cap balancing on his knee.

Gaines picked up a folder and gave it to Randall. "I understand you've been wanting to get out of England, Randall. Well, you've got your chance."

"Sir?" Randall took the folder and opened it.

Gaines sat down and leaned back in his chair. "There's a Luftwaffe POW camp that's surrendering to its senior POW officer. To give it its proper name, Stalag Luft 13 is surrendering. It's one of the smallest camps the Germans have, east of Düsseldorf."

"Düsseldorf?" Randall's brows lifted. "I didn't know we'd taken Düsseldorf."

"We haven't. And probably won't for awhile; Model's Army Group B is all around it."

"But — ?"

Gaines raised a hand. "I don't know why the camp's surrendering, Randall. But it is. Along with the town nearest the camp." A frosty smile. "I suppose they can see what's coming and decided to spare themselves the trouble of being fought over. Not that there's much to fight over. The town was nearly destroyed by a fire not that long ago. At any rate, the camp and the town are surrendering. And that's where you come in."

"Me, sir?"

Gaines nodded. "We want you to assemble a staff capable of sustaining the camp for several months. The airfield nearest the camp is a mess thanks to Underground activity so we can't get a plane in or out. And that's assuming we'd want to try, given its location. Which means those men will be stuck there for some time. You'll be taken there with three C-47's and a fighter escort. You and your staff will parachute in, along with a couple of jeeps and tons of supplies, mainly food and clothing.

"Stalag 13 has some twenty-five hundred men. A dozen officers with a Colonel Robert Hogan as the senior POW. The rest are noncoms and enlisted men. It's a mixed nationality camp, with men from nearly all the Allied nations in there, primarily airmen. Since it is behind the lines, we need you to secure the area for us. That means getting those men, a good many of whom have been there for years, into some sort of fighting shape."

"Fighting shape, sir?"

Gaines smiled thinly. "We're not thinking of having those men go on the offensive and we don't anticipate any threats to the area. The natural terrain around it is rugged with limited road and bridge access. And just over a week ago, the last western access and the roads to the east were destroyed or blocked. So it's completely isolated from the Germans and us. But it would be nice to have an area we can count on if we needed it. A kind of back door inside Model's army."

"I'll make certain they get into shape, General."

Gaines nodded.

"I do have a question, sir. The senior POW is a colonel?"

Gaines nodded again. "Technically, he's senior to you. But you'll be the one in charge. Everything you need to know," _everything we're going to tell you_, "is in that folder. Hogan's a good man, a bit of a maverick. And a survivor. He can fill in the blanks for you, Randall. And help with the town. He's made quite a few contacts with the locals; the area's been a hotbed of Resistance activity over the past three years."

"I see," Randall said.

"Well, that's it, Randall. You'll have room for twenty-eight men on one of the C-47's.(2) You have a free hand in picking the men, as long as someone higher up doesn't want the same fellow. The catch is you'll be leaving on the tenth at 0400."

Randall frowned. "That's not much time, sir."

"No, it's not."

"Then I'd better get to it, sir." Randall stood. A smart salute. "Thank you."

Gaines saluted as well. "Don't thank me, Randall," he muttered as Randall left. "It wasn't my idea."

Then again, maybe he was just being a pessimist. Randall did have the necessary experience. And there wasn't time to go looking for someone else. Oh well, once Hogan filled him in on what had been going on there, Randall will probably loosen up a bit.

...

Randall was reading the folder as he walked out of the building.

A stocky major joined him. "Anything good, Frank?"

A feral grin. "We hit pay dirt, Jimmy. I just got handed a POW camp and town right smack dab in the middle of Germany."

"Huh?"

"A gold mine, Jimmy."

"A POW camp? What kind of a gold mine is that?"

"You're forgetting the town."

"Look, Frank — "

"They gave me my own ticket, Jimmy. An isolated area. No brass looking over my shoulder or able to drop in unexpectedly. No inspectors sticking their noses where they don't belong. And tons of supplies to take into the area."

That shut Jimmy up. "Which means — "

"Which means I make the rules. How many of the old gang can we get in the next twenty-four hours, Jimmy?"

"Maybe fifteen."

"Then get going, Jimmy. This is the one we've been waiting for."

...

As news of the capture of Cologne by Hodges' First Army circulated throughout the camp, the guards, one by one, talked to Klink and Gruber. Succinctly, Klink told them he was surrendering the camp to Hogan the next day and each man could choose whether he wanted to stay or not. Those men who wanted to leave could do so at eight o'clock on the morning of the seventh. Klink would give them orders to go to any part of Germany they wished.

After the last man left, Klink stood and walked to the window. His eyes swept the compound. Not counting Gruber, Schultz and Langenscheidt, there were one hundred and thirty-one guards in the camp and two thousand five hundred and thirty-four prisoners. He'd spent nearly five years of his life in this camp. In many respects, the best years of his life and definitely the worst years of his life. Now, it would soon be over. And his life would be turned upside down. Shortly, he would be the prisoner.

But he didn't have to be. He could leave.

Leave and do what? If he left, it wouldn't be as Wilhelm Klink, Luftwaffe colonel. He would not take the risk of venturing away from the area as himself. No, if he left, he would leave as the Stage. A man without a past or a future. And his present would be filled with hiding from the Gestapo and SS, living in the open or in primitive conditions, moving constantly, trying to evade the armies battling around him.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was almost fifty years old, next month in fact. And tired. A tired Stage was no good to anyone, especially himself. If he were not so tired, he might consider leaving. But not now. The war was nearly over. He could direct his operations as he always had via the radio. Hogan wouldn't object.

He _was_ tired. Otherwise, he would have remembered that Hogan might not remain in charge.

* * *

1 Forbes was a colonel in "Easy Come, Easy Go".

2 Planes during the 1940's were small. The unarmed C-47, commercially known as the DC-3, carried a maximum of 28 passengers, less if used as an ambulance. When used as a glider with the engines removed, it held up to 40. The C-46 could hold up to 50. No plane, civilian or military, carried more. Still flying today, the plane was used in every major campaign of the war to deliver supplies and troops.


	3. Chapter 3

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 3

It was eight o'clock on the morning of March seventh in the year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and forty-five. And everyone, guards and prisoners, knew what would happen this morning. There was an excitement in the air, an excitement with an undercurrent of tension. Some of the prisoners had been waiting for this moment for nearly five years. Now, it was almost here.

Seventeen men walked into Klink's office and walked out with orders authorizing them to travel to cities and towns all over Germany. Their reasons for leaving were simple. They wanted to be with their families when it all ended. Once they were safely away from the area, their uniforms would be discarded and they would disappear into the mass of civilians crossing Germany. The rest of the guards, one hundred fourteen men and boys, many of them physically unable to attempt the arduous journey down the trails, were staying — staying with the man they had grown to respect, the soon-to-be-replaced Kommandant of the camp, and staying with a man they thought they could trust, the American Colonel Hogan.

The prisoners, dressed in their best for the occasion, wandered around the camp, watching the seventeen men leave. Watching also as the guards climbed down from the watchtowers or came out of their barracks and assembled in the compound into two neat rows of fifty-seven men apiece. Sergeants Schultz and Langenscheidt stood at the head of the rows. Captain Gruber stood on the porch in front of the office, waiting nervously.

A car entered the gate and drove up, stopping beside the Kommandant's quarters. Five men got out: Bürgermeister Scheinfeld, Kurt Hausner, Monsignor Geisler, Police Chief Krueger and Doctor Bauer. The five men walked over to the porch and waited beside Gruber.

The prisoners slowly arranged themselves into orderly rows in the open space between the barracks and the Kommandantur building. Volunteers brought out the twenty odd men who were still housed in the infirmary. They also wanted to be part of a day some of them once thought they'd never live to see. Hogan, the other officers and his men walked over to the office. Hogan and the four captains went up the stairs; the rest of the officers along with Hogan's men lined up in front of the porch. Hilda, looking nervous, walked out on the porch and stood over on the far right.

Then Kommandant Wilhelm Klink came out of his office.

"Achtung!" Schultz called.

The Germans snapped to attention, saluting their Kommandant. To the surprise of the German civilians, the prisoners, all twenty-five hundred and thirty-four of them, also saluted.

Klink returned the salute; the irony was not lost on him.

"Good morning, Kommandant," Hogan said.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's eyes were veiled, unreadable. "Captain Gruber."

Gruber walked over and saluted.

"You know what to do," Klink said quietly.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Gruber said. He turned to the assembled soldiers. "Flag detail."

Three men broke away from the precise rows and marched over to the flagpole in the compound.

"Achtung!" Schultz shouted.

The German soldiers saluted as their flag was slowly pulled down the pole.

Klink, Hogan noted, stood at attention, but didn't salute — his final act of defiance as the Kommandant of the camp. Of course, none of the prisoners saluted the Nazi flag as it was lowered to the ground.

The detail folded up the flag with precision and walked back to Captain Gruber. Gruber saluted and took the flag. He went up the stairs. Another salute and Gruber handed the flag to Klink. Klink took it without a word, tucking it under his left arm. Gruber, his face expressionless, went back to his place.

The moment had come.

Klink stepped away from the others, walking to the top of the stairs. His eyes swept the camp, the prisoners and the guards. He turned, his glance flitting over Hilda's pale face and the faces of the men from town. His gaze rested on Hogan.

The two men looked at each other, both knowing this moment had been inevitable from their first meeting. But Hogan's perception of this moment was far different than it had been those many months ago. Then he was a defiant, brash, and admittedly cocky American who'd had the misfortune of being shot down. He was certain of the outcome of the war; more certain with each word he'd exchanged with the Kommandant of the camp. The Kommandant he had despised, if not hated, from the moment they first met. How often had he dreamed of what he would do to Klink when this moment arrived, how he would make Klink crawl, figuratively if not literally, maybe even beg, literally.

Then as the years passed, things changed. The hatred, if there was any, disappeared. More importantly, the contempt, the derision, disappeared. Instead, to his astonishment and initial disgust, he discovered other feelings in himself toward Klink. Feelings he didn't want to acknowledge. Feelings he had hidden successfully from himself and from the man who stood before him. And it had taken that man's pain and near death for Hogan to finally admit the truth to himself as well as Klink. If the surrender had come then, Klink would have come to him as a child goes to an older and wiser brother who would look after him.

But now, with everything he had learned about Klink, with everything that had gone on between them, it was two equals facing each other. Their roles were reversing, yes, but they were merely trading places; it didn't negate their equality.

Klink walked slowly towards Hogan. Hogan, to the surprise of many, met him halfway.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's even voice could be heard throughout the camp, courtesy of the camp's public address system. "As Kommandant of Stalag Luft 13, I formally surrender this camp to you. I ask only that the men left in my command be treated fairly by you and your men. I take complete responsibility for their actions while they were in my command. And I am prepared to accept the consequences for those actions."

His last statement surprised many in the camp, including the remaining Germans.

"Colonel Klink, I accept the surrender of this camp. I give you my word that your request will be honored."

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan stepped away from Klink. "Flag detail."

His men: Sergeant Andrew Carter, American, Sergeant James Kinchloe, American, Sergeant Richard Baker, American, Corporal Peter Newkirk, English, and Corporal Louis LeBeau, French, stepped away the office and marched smartly to the flagpole.

"Attention!" from Captain Witton.

The former prisoners snapped to attention and saluted as the three Americans hoisted the American flag up the pole. The former guards, following the lead of their Kommandant, saluted as well.

Hogan watched expressionless as the flag rose slowly up the flagpole. But the thudding of his heart belied his expression. _I wonder if this is the way Francis Scott Key felt when he saw that flag flying over Fort McHenry? A different war, a different enemy, but . . . Never paid much attention before, did I? What it means . . . what it cost._

An unexpectedly ragged breath as he looked across the compound. Men he'd known for years, men who'd looked on death and destruction without blinking, men who'd survived the horror of their planes burning and crashing, men who'd once felt they'd never see home again, had tears in their eyes as they looked at those thirteen stripes and forty-eight stars. Some, the ones who'd been here the longest — Hogan averted his eyes from their expressions and looked at his men. Carter was staring up at the flag with awe, almost as if he'd never seen it before. Kinch and Baker, both serious, quiet men, looked at it thoughtfully. And Hogan, remembering his conversation — his fight — with Klink found himself wondering if the reality of their lives back in the States overshadowed the faith, the promise, that the flag meant to most of the other Americans in the compound. He hoped not; he hoped that they could see the dream, the future that the flag represented. He looked up at the Stars and Stripes. _God, I just pray I never forget what it really means, what it really cost_.

The men stayed at attention as the British flag was hoisted up by Newkirk, followed by the French flag. Over a third of the camp came from the British Commonwealth, some two hundred were French. Their countries had known war the longest, had suffered the most among the Allies. Some had despaired of ever seeing this day. LeBeau, one of the shortest men in the crowded camp, looked like the tallest as he hoisted the French flag up the pole. His face shown with a fierce pride as his hand snapped up in a salute. And Newkirk, the irreverent kidder, the one who downplayed serious emotions, had tears streaming down his face as he stared up at his flag.

For a moment, for two, for three, all Allied eyes remained on the colorful banners fluttering above them. For a moment, for two, for three, no one took a breath, no one moved. No one could.

Then the five men stirred and slowly walked back to Hogan.

But it wasn't over yet.

Bürgermeister Rudolf Scheinfeld nervously walked over to the American Colonel. He wet dry lips. "Colonel Hogan, as Bürgermeister of Hammelburg, and with the unanimous consent of the Town Council of Hammelburg, I surrender the town of Hammelburg and its environs to you. We humbly ask for your protection against those who would invade our town."

"Bürgermeister, gentlemen, I accept your surrender," Hogan said, "and pledge you our support."

"Danke schön, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan turned away from him and back to the assembled camp. Thousands of eyes, many of them wet, looked back at him. His eyes swept the camp; it was almost over.

"Prisoners," Hogan ordered in a firm voice, "lay down your arms."

There were some puzzled looks on the former guards' faces, faces that flushed as they realized whom he meant. Slowly, their rifles and machine guns were placed on the ground.

"Captain Gruber," Hogan said, "please escort your men back to their quarters."

Gruber saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Oberst. Sergeant Schultz, Sergeant Langenscheidt."

The guards began marching in neat lines back to the two buildings.

"Captain Witton," Hogan said as the guards entered their quarters. "Dismiss the men."

"Dismissed!"

Then it came. Hogan expected it, as did Klink. But the response was still overwhelming. The former prisoners cheered and clapped and cried and danced and sang in celebration. For them at least it was finally over.

Hogan watched the frenzied assembly for a moment with a faint smile; the celebrations would go on for the rest of the day, maybe longer. Then he turned back to Klink and the others.

"Shall we adjourn inside, gentlemen?" Hogan gestured. There were still some things they had to discuss.

The Germans went into the office, followed by the Allied captains.

Hogan and Klink were left on the porch. Only Hogan and his men noticed as Klink walked over to the trashcan standing beside the porch. The lid was lifted. The Nazi flag Klink had received was dropped inside. The lid was replaced. And Klink, ignoring Hogan's searching glance, walked into the office. Hogan, after a look at the trashcan, followed.

"Whew!" Newkirk said softly, glancing at the can.

"You got that right," Kinch agreed, looking at the can.

Then the men left to join the celebration.

...

They were in Klink's quarters, brandy having been passed out.

The rules for now were simple. Klink's men, those who had taken care of the workings of the camp, would continue their tasks, supervised by the former prisoners. In the town, the handful of Nazis still left, a few women and men too infirm to wear uniforms, were to be placed under house arrest. If people behaved themselves, as Hogan knew they would, there would be no problems. The former guards were now subject to the same rules that the former prisoners had followed. The details would be worked out later with the new commanding officer.

"Was?" was Hausner's astonished cry. "Colonel Hogan, we had thought that you — "

Hogan shook his head. "London is sending a man with a complete support staff within a few days."

No one asked him when he had contacted London; they could guess.

Klink's eyes narrowed as he heard the news.

Hogan looked at him, seeing the unspoken reproof in his eyes. "Would it have made a difference?" Hogan asked evenly.

"In the surrender of the camp, no," Klink said just as evenly. "In other matters, perhaps."

"The decision was London's, Colonel," Hogan said, still in the same tone. "And they're the boss."

Klink smiled very faintly and lifted his drink to his lips. Only Hogan could hear, "Well, I suppose I can always talk to London later."

Hogan turned away, hiding his smile.

Hours later, the Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen was crossed by troops under the command of General William Hoge after German attempts to destroy the bridge had failed. The Allies were now on the eastern bank of the Rhine. Enraged, Hitler ordered the execution of five officers. One survived only because he had the good fortune to be captured by the Allies before the order could be carried out.(1)

Later that night after the townspeople had left, the former prisoners were still celebrating, and the former guards were in their quarters.

Hogan walked over to Klink's quarters. Klink stood on the porch, his eyes on the darkness outside the camp.

"Care for a drink?" Hogan asked him.

"If it's champagne, not really."

"I guess it would be bad taste." Hogan put the bottle and glasses on the steps and walked over to Klink. "How are you doing?"

Klink shook his head. "I'm not sure. I'm not regretting the surrender; it had to be done. But, still . . . "

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I was captured," Hogan said.

"But then it was just you. I feel responsible for the guards and the town. It was bad enough handing them over to you. Now there's a stranger coming."

"You're really annoyed about that," Hogan said with a little heat.

Klink looked at him. "Aren't you?"

"Well . . . Yeah," he admitted. "But there's not much we can do about it, is there? Unless you're holding out on me."

A faint smile. "I have rarely interfered in the decisions of Allied High Command. No matter how stupid I thought they were."

Hogan laughed in the darkness.

There was a long companionable silence on the porch.

"When are you moving in?" Klink finally asked.

"I'm not," Hogan said with a faint smile. "As you said, there's a stranger coming to town. And if there weren't, I'd still stay where I am."

"Why?"

Hogan grinned. "I wouldn't know what to do with all that space."

Klink smiled.

"Besides where would you stay?"

"There are two bedrooms. At any rate, that would be your decision or the new commanding officer's," Klink said softly. "I've packed up the items that mean something to me and had them taken down to the tunnels."

"But a lot of the things in there are yours," Hogan objected.

"What's left are just things. Some of them nice, but things that can be replaced."

Hogan suddenly remembered the conversation he'd had with Klink on New Year's Eve. "You expect to be sent to the cooler, don't you?"

Klink shrugged.

"This is nuts," Hogan started. "I'll tell Randall — "

"You will say nothing, Papa Bear!" the Stage ordered. "Neither you nor men! Is that understood?"

Hogan was startled, and chastened. "Yes, sir," he said in a subdued voice.

"No, I'm sorry. That came out harsher than I intended. But I will determine what the new commanding officer does or does not know. London may have informed him. But I doubt it."

"Think he might know about our operation?"

"I don't know. I think that unless he does everyone should keep their mouths shut."

"Agreed," said Hogan. "I'll make sure everyone gets the word. But it would make things easier if he knew."

"He should," Klink said. "His security clearance should be high enough."

"Tell you what," Hogan said lightly. "If he kicks you out of here, you can bunk with me."

Klink looked at him with amusement. "You probably snore."

"Me? Never! And I know you don't."

Klink smiled. "Yes, you did bug the bedroom a few times, didn't you?"

"Not when you had feminine company," Hogan said hurriedly.

An odd look. "You wouldn't have heard anything. What woman in her right mind would sleep with Kommandant Klink?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . "

A soft, "I do."

Hogan coughed.

"Am I embarrassing you, Colonel Hogan?"

"Well . . . "

Klink smiled. "For a man with such a marked interest in women, I didn't think sex would be an embarrassing subject."

"It's not," Hogan protested. "It's just . . . We've never talked about it before," he finished lamely.

"There are many things we've never talked about," Klink said quietly.

"Maybe we'll finally get the chance," Hogan said in the same tone.

"Maybe," Klink said noncommittally.

There was silence for a while.

"Wilhelm," Hogan began.

"I told you once I don't want your pity, Colonel," Klink said in a low voice.

"It's not pity, Kommandant," Hogan said quietly. A faint smile. "You need it less than any man I know."

A pause. "Then I apologize, Colonel."

"Why are you being so formal?" Hogan asked. "I would think that being relieved of the burdens of command wouldn't be too bad."

"Do you believe it, knowing you'll be relieved as well?" Klink asked. "And I am still concerned about the men who stayed. I don't want them hurt."

"They won't be, Kommandant," Hogan said. "I promise you."

A faint smile. "But you won't be in charge, will you?"

"Damn it, will you stop being such a pessimist?"

"Forgive me, Robert. But I've spent too much of my life being a pessimist as you call it. I call it being a realist."

"Finally, you remembered my name," Hogan said. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten it."

"I apologize."

"No." Hogan's voice was more subdued. "I'm the one who should apologize. If I were in your shoes, I'd worry too. I worried about my crew for weeks after I was captured, even though I knew they were safe in other camps."

"Yes, I know."

"I kept expecting to be transferred out," Hogan admitted. "Why didn't you?"

Klink shrugged. "The camp needed a high ranking officer to restore some order to it. Though you took over more completely than I expected."

"But you went along with it."

"By then, I had checked on you, and you did keep the men in line. Even if I didn't appreciate the how of it, you were useful."

"I tried."

Klink laughed unexpectedly. "Yes, you did. And you succeeded. Quite well."

"We both succeeded. Even if I didn't have the sense to admit for a long time," Hogan added dryly.

"And now it's ending," Klink said softly. "Perhaps that is what I really regret. That our partnership is over."

"I'd like to think it's just entering a new phase," Hogan matched his tone.

"Perhaps."

Hogan walked over to the bottle he'd left on the steps. "Then let's drink to that. By the way, it's not champagne. It's fine old Napoleon brandy." He poured the brandy, handing a glass to Klink. "To new beginnings," Hogan toasted.

"With old friends," Klink added.

The glasses clinked and they drank.

"Excellent," Klink said appreciatively. "Should I ask where it came from?"

Hogan grinned. "I need some secrets, Kommandant."

"Wilhelm."

Another smile. "Wilhelm."

"We haven't played chess in a while, Robert."

"No, we haven't."

"Feel like losing?"

Hogan grinned. "I'm feeling lucky tonight. Maybe I'll win."

Klink matched his smile. "Maybe you will."

Klink led the way back into his quarters.

Outside, the celebration continued.

* * *

1 The failure of the Germans to destroy the Bridge at Remagen is one of the mysteries of the war; the web site calls it the "miracle" of Remagen. The bridge had been mined both above and below the water. But the explosives failed to destroy the bridge. The Germans then tried to destroy it by artillery fire and bombing runs, which weakened the bridge. But it was still passable, as the Americans discovered on March 7, 1945. On March 17, 1945, the weakened bridge collapsed, killing 28 Americans. But by then, pontoon bridges had been built across the Rhine and losing the bridge had no effect on the Allies ability to cross the Rhine. A further consequence of the bridge crossing was that the Germans concentrated many of their forces there in an effort to contain the Allies. By doing so, the southern portions of the Rhine were underdefended, allowing Patton's Third Army to cross with relative ease. The web site, www.bruecke-remagen.de, is in English and German.


	4. Chapter 4

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 4

London:

"There you are, Mason," General Edmondson said. "Have a good dinner?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Thank you," Mason said mechanically. "Uh, sir."

"Yes?" Edmondson opened a file.

"Sir, I had dinner with a friend of mine from CI."

"Criminal Investigations? You seem to have friends all over, Mason."

"Yes, sir. Well, sir, we ran into a couple of guys . . . That is . . ."

"Mason, is there a point to this?"

"Yes, sir." Mason took a deep breath. "Sir, Colonel Randall, the one going to Stalag 13. Seems there are rumors circulating about him in CI."

"Rumors? Like what?"

"Misconduct, sir. They weren't very specific."

"CI does more than misconduct, Mason. They're after bigger fish. There was nothing in his file?"

"No, sir. Seems that the paperwork's disappeared."

"More likely buried on someone's desk. Or it never existed."

"Sir, they said it's happened before. Accusations were made and then nothing."

"Nothing — as in they didn't find anything?"

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. No proof, no witnesses, nothing."

Edmondson frowned.

"Maybe we should keep Randall here, sir. Until they can check him out more thoroughly."

Edmondson glanced at the clock. "He's due to leave in five hours, Mason."

"I know, sir."

"Too late to do anything about him now."

"But — "

"The camp needs the supplies they're taking, Mason. I know they're in much better shape than any other POW camp. But if we want to use that area and those men, they need the supplies, and they need training."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't look so glum, Mason. We're not going to drop it. Let Randall go. If he does have something to hide, well, let him think he got away with it. He might get careless if he thinks he's safe. Easier to hang him that way. And we'll keep digging here."

"Sir, if the rumors true — "

"If they are, can you think of any men better able to handle the problem?"

"I guess not, sir." Mason was still less than happy. "Do we tell Hogan about him?"

"Tell him what? Rumors? While we're at it, we can tell Hogan about the rumors that have circulated about him — cooperating with the enemy and making treasonous comments over German radio, among others."

"But those were done as part of his operation."

"And how many people know that? Randall doesn't know about the camp? Security clearance not high enough?"

"No, sir."

"So, as far as he's concerned, there is nothing unusual about Stalag 13. That'll work. If there is a problem with him, the less he knows the better."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, Mason," Edmondson said in a cajoling voice. "Get on CI's back and have them check Randall with a fine-tooth comb, including all the rumors. If there is something on him, we'll know exactly where to find him. And we'll get some use out of him too. Look on the bright side. What could he possibly do in the middle of Germany, surrounded by Panzers, with both Papa Bear and the Stage looking over his shoulder?"

...

March 10, 1945, the orderly formations were back, both former guards and former prisoners. By now, everyone knew that Colonel Francis Randall and twenty-seven other men were coming to the camp, administering not only the camp but the town as well. Roughly one hundred square kilometers of town, camp and environs would be under their control.

No one knew what to expect. London had given them very little information on Randall. About the only thing Hogan knew for certain was that Randall was a few years older than he, some years Hogan's junior in rank, and had spent most of his career behind a desk. "A desk jockey," Newkirk had said derisively. And despite the fact that Hogan technically outranked him, Randall would be the commanding officer.

Randall and his men were only minutes away. While the planes carrying Randall, his men and supplies were also carrying a couple of jeeps, no other transports could be flown in. Therefore, Hogan had sent the camp's trucks to the airfield. He had debated going as well but decided against it. This was the command he was turning over to Randall, so this was where he was going to meet Randall. In hindsight, that turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made — the driver of one of the trucks was Sergeant Virgil Yeager.

...

Hogan's men and the junior officers were at the foot of the stairs; the captains were on the porch along with Gruber, Klink and Hogan. Hilda, very nervous, was waiting in the office. Hogan had decided against having the townspeople at this meeting; Randall could decide when and where to meet with them later.

Finally, the jeeps and trucks were at the open gate; the men sprang to attention.

The lead jeep stopped before the building with the "Kommandantur" sign still on it. The driver got out and saluted as the other man in the jeep also got out.

The men in the camp saluted as well, Germans as well as former prisoners.

The man, a couple of inches shorter than Hogan, with an average build and dark features, walked slowly to the stairs. He glanced around before going up the stairs to where the officers were waiting. As he did, other men climbed out of the vehicles to look around at the camp.

Randall walked over to Hogan, returning his salute.

"Colonel Randall," Hogan said, dropping the salute, "I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior officer in the camp."

"Hogan." Randall's voice was cool, as was his touch when he shook Hogan's hand.

"And these are Captain Witton, Captain Martin, Captain Mitchell and Captain Warren," Hogan introduced.

Randall nodded at the men. "This is Major Matthews," he gestured at the stocky officer who came up beside him. "The others you'll meet as we go along."

"Yes, sir," Hogan said and then turned to the man beside him. "This is Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the former kommandant of Stalag 13."

Klink saluted Randall; the salute was not returned. Instead, Randall eyed the tall German like a carnivore examining its prey.

"I haven't seen many high-ranking krauts, Kommandant," Randall said softly, slurring the last word. "Are you a prime example of the 'Master Race'?"

Klink, his eyes flitting over Randall's face, didn't answer.

"Not very polite, Kommandant." Hogan found himself thinking of the way Hochstetter used to say the word. "And it's not smart to annoy the new boss. Or maybe you don't speak English."

"My apologies, Colonel," Klink said. "I didn't realize you expected an answer."

"I always want answers when I ask a question, Klink. I'm a very curious man. And I have a great many questions to ask you."

Randall's eyes swung to a nervous Gruber and a worried Schultz, and past them to the assembled Germans. He dismissed them with a glance, his eyes going back to Klink.

"Not much, are they? Or you."

"Colonel, Kommandant Klink is entitled — " Hogan began.

"He's entitled to nothing. He's just a kraut who didn't have the sense to disappear when he had the chance. Matthews!"

Matthews saluted. "Sir!"

"Have a detail take the krauts, including those two," indicating Gruber and Schultz, "to one of the buildings. Lock them up."

"Wait a min — " Hogan started.

Klink cut across his objection. "Colonel, I am responsible for my men. I take complete responsibility for their actions while they were under my command."

"Very noble, Klink. Are you equally willing to accept their punishment as well?"

"Yes," was the calm answer, his eyes still on Randall.

Randall smiled mockingly. "Matthews, escort Klink to the cooler. No one is to see him without my express permission. Especially," he added with relish, "Colonel Hogan."

The order startled Hogan; it also generated a few uneasy looks among the other officers and his men.

Klink glanced at Hogan's surprised expression and smiled faintly. Then he walked down the stairs, Matthews at his side.

There was an odd silence as Klink led the way to the cooler. The door shut behind him with a muffled clang.

"Crowley!" Randall shouted.

A captain hurried over and saluted. "Yes, sir!"

"You escort the krauts to the barracks," Randall ordered. "Then post a guard. No one in or out without permission."

"Yes, sir!"

Another salute and Crowley walked down the stairs, gesturing to a couple of men.

Gruber and Schultz followed him. Silently, they and the former guards marched to Schultz's barracks. The door closed behind the men.

Randall turned to Hogan. "I'll need a building for my men. I want one cleared out within the hour. I'll take over the kraut's quarters, of course. And I want to talk to you and the captains now."

Hogan found his voice. A tight, "Yes, sir. Lt. Miller, if you please."

"Yes, sir," Miller said.

Randall smiled at Hogan; despite its surface pleasantness, Hogan decided he didn't like the smile. "Snyder, you go with the lieutenant. You know what we want."

"Yes, sir," said a wiry corporal.

Randall opened the door to the office. Matthews hurried over from the cooler as Randall walked inside.

"Well, hello." Randall grinned at a very skittish Hilda who stood behind her desk. "And who do we have here?"

"This is Hilda Drescher," Hogan said, walking closer to the plainly frightened girl. "She's the camp secretary and knows everything there is to know about the place. She could be a great help."

"Yes, I'll bet," Randall murmured, his eyes slowly undressing her.

Hilda instinctively took a step closer to Hogan.

Randall grinned at her uneasiness and glanced around the office. Then he walked to the inner office and opened the door. A look around.

"It'll do for now. Gentlemen," he looked at the officers coming in, "we've got some work to do."

Randall listened, Hogan had to give him that, as he and the other officers explained the situation at the camp. As Hogan half-expected, the desk officer was not too pleased to hear that the Germans were still running the camp. The moment they finished talking, Randall announced the changes in personnel. His men would take over the running of the camp nearly to the last detail. The others would help wherever Randall needed them, which, at the moment, seemed to be nowhere. The camp would be run like any other military installation but with stricter discipline, stricter rules and a very strict curfew. The town would be off-limits to the former prisoners, but not, Hogan noted, to Randall's men. The former prisoners, as Randall put it, would have to get used to being in the military again. As for the former guards, they would remain confined to the barracks.

"Just a minute, sir," Hogan objected. "Under the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention," he noted the irony, "they are allowed exercise and recreation."

"They'll be granted that when they show they are entitled to it," Randall said coolly. "Perhaps you've forgotten which side you're on, Colonel." There was a thinly disguised slur in his voice.

Hogan kept his temper. "I think, sir, you should explain that."

Randall smiled. "I'd be happy to, Colonel Hogan." Randall stood and faced him with a sneer. "I've read the file on this camp, and I had a very interesting conversation on the way over here with one of the truck drivers. I hear there hasn't been a single successful escape in all the time you've been here. Not one! It seems from your concern about the krauts and the bastard," Hogan stiffened, "who was in charge that you led a privileged life here. Well, Hogan, the free ride is over. It's time that you and this pathetic group got back in the war and remembered who and what you're supposed to be fighting. But you haven't fought, have you? You've just sat on your tail and let that," an obscenity, "walk all over you while others did the fighting for you!"

Hogan stiffened under the verbal assault; it was obvious that Randall hadn't been given the real story of the camp. Part of him wondered why; part of him was furious. But he had to take it for now.

Randall fell silent and sat down, his eyes still on Hogan. "I think I've learned enough for now, gentlemen." His voice was mocking. "You're dismissed. You might as well warn everyone that there are going to be some drastic changes here."

The five men saluted; the captains filed out slowly.

At the door, Hogan turned, his voice low, "Colonel, how long will you keep Klink in the cooler?"

Randall didn't bother looking at him. "He might have some useful information. I'll personally interrogate him. As for how long, Hogan . . . " Randall's eyes lifted to his. "Until he rots, Hogan. Until he rots."

Hogan didn't say a word and left the office.

And stopped suddenly. Sergeant Virgil Yeager was waiting in the outer office.

"What are you doing here, Yeager?"

"Me?" Yeager grinned at him. "Well, now, sir." Hogan stiffened at his tone. "You see, sir, the Colonel and I have a little business to transact."

Hogan's face darkened. "I don't think so, Yeager. Get out of . . . "

"There you are, Sergeant," Randall said from the door. "I've been expecting you." Randall went back inside.

Yeager tossed off a mocking salute. "Like I said, sir, me and the Colonel have got business." He grinned and swaggered into the office, leaving Hogan staring at the closing door.

...

Hogan walked into an uproar when he reached his barracks. The captains and other officers were there.

Lt. Miller was giving them an earful. "When I got to 79 that damned Corporal Snyder stopped me. Said that one was off-limits."

Martin stared at him. "Off-limits?"

"Seems Yeager told Randall it was full of guys just eager to do what he wants, unlike the rest of us."

"Quiet!" Hogan ordered over the outrage that arose.

"It's worse than that," came a quiet voice from the door.

Hogan turned to see Private Ken Tiptoe looking at him with unusual gravity. "What is it?"

"I was listening to Yeager a few minutes ago. Seems he offered his services and those of the men in 79 to Colonel Randall. He pretty much told the men that if they cooperated, they'd be — well, he called it living on easy street. A bit disturbing the way it sounded."

"A lot disturbing," Mitchell said.

"Are the men in 79 taking Yeager up on it?" Hogan asked, ignoring the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

"I think I can convince a couple of them not to. But I think most of them will," Tiptoe said. "Colonel, most of them aren't troublemakers, not really. They're bored, restless. Some of them have legitimate gripes against the Germans who captured them. For the most part, they want what we all want — decent food, clothing and the like."

"Your training's showing, Reverend," Witton said without a hint of a smile. "We all want that, and hopefully we'll all get it. But Yeager's talking about something a lot more than that. He wants to be in charge. Make that he wants to be pals with the guy who is in charge."

"A normal enough reaction," Tiptoe began.

"Yeah," Hogan said evenly. "As long as it doesn't come at the expense of the rest of the men. If Yeager and his pals start getting privileges that are denied to the rest of the camp, especially the men who have been here a hell of a lot longer than he has, there's going to be trouble."

"What do we do, Colonel?" Warren asked.

"We do what we're told. Colonel Randall is in charge, like it or not. He's made it clear he expects to run this place like a regular army camp. Given that we're smack dab in the middle of the Fifth Panzer Army, that's not a bad thing. We said the same thing when Klink surrendered the camp. So, like we did when we first got here, we get the feel of things, see what's going on. And I don't want anyone undermining his authority." He turned to the non-officers. "Pass the word. Everyone behave. If you've got a beef with Randall or his men, keep your mouth shut; don't give them an excuse to jump on you. And bring your complaints to one of us." He gestured at the other officers. "Everyone got that?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Okay, that's it. Nothing's going to happen today, so mingle and get the word out."

"Right, sir."

The men began leaving the barracks.

Witton stayed behind as the others left.

"Something on your mind, Captain?" Hogan asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Witton shook his head. "Nothing specific. Except . . . I wonder why London didn't tell him about your operation."

"I've been asking myself the same question," Hogan admitted.

"Will you ask London, sir?"

"I've thought about it. But, like I said to the men, let's get a feel of things first. Maybe Randall's just having a bad day. I've been known to have a few myself."

Witton smiled faintly. "Maybe. I'll go mingle. Might learn something about our new commanding officer."

Hogan nodded as Witton left.

New commanding officer. The last time someone else had been in that position was when Klink decided to bring Crittendon into the camp.(1) A major disaster from the moment he arrived. _One day I'm going to have to ask Klink why he did it_. _Did I really get on his nerves that much or was there another reason? _Hogan shook his head. "There are many things we've never talked about," Klink had said. Crittendon was one of them, though hardly the most interesting topic. And with Klink in the cooler, they sure weren't going to talk about anything.

But he had a few things to talk about with Randall. And Klink was one of them.

_Go slow, Robert. Go slow. Don't oversell it. Randall's not the enemy; he's not Hochstetter or Burkhalter. He's one of the good guys. I'll just have to show him that Klink's one of the good guys too. Hell, I've done all but sell the Brooklyn Bridge to some of the bad guys. Proving to Randall that Klink and the other Germans here are good guys shouldn't be hard. A few days should do it. _

So why did he have so much trouble believing himself?

* * *

1 "Flight of the Valkyrie"


	5. Chapter 5

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 5

"Hogan!" Randall called from the office porch.

Hogan broke away from the group he was with and walked over. "Yes, sir?" For a moment, it felt odd saying that to someone other than Klink.

"I've been looking around. Seems the plan of the camp on the office wall isn't accurate."

Hogan managed a small smile. "No, sir. A few things have changed in the past few months. Sergeant Rizzo probably has a better one."

"Rizzo?"

"The camp architect. When space got tight, Klink asked him to add more buildings and convert all available space into living quarters. Rizzo and Sergeant Doyle put together several construction teams and did the job."

"More collaborating."

Hogan reined in his temper. "Work details. The men got paid with more living space and more electricity in the barracks. Maybe we didn't make it clear, Colonel, but in November, we had twelve hundred men here. We've got more than double that number now."

Randall scowled. "Where's this Rizzo?"

"If you'll follow me, Colonel, I'll be happy to show you around."

Hogan took Randall on a quick tour of the camp, pointing out several of the buildings. "That's the mess hall. Holds three hundred men for meals, more for meetings. Since the assembly hall was converted into a temporary infirmary and then more barracks space, the mess hall is the only sizeable space left in camp."

Randall eyed the men heading for the mess hall. "Mealtime already?"

"No, sir, not yet. KP detail. The mess hall serves breakfast and a late afternoon meal."

"Two meals?"

"Standard for most camps. Though for months, the meals have been less than filling."

"Oh?"

"Problems with budget and supplies. Klink used to be able to supplement the regular supplies with foodstuffs bought from Hammelburg or the surrounding farms. But money got tight, and the outside food supply grew scarcer. Since the fire, Hammelburg hasn't enough to feed itself. But we got lucky a few weeks ago. Klink picked up a black market supplier and confiscated his stash. The town got seventy-five percent of the stuff; we got the rest. And more — he had an even larger cache of stolen Red Cross packages. Enough to last us through the summer if need be."

"Black market? Much of that here?"

"Not any more. The fire took care of them. And now we're cut off from the rest of Germany."

"What about that supplier?"

"Locked up for stealing the Red Cross packages. He's lucky he wasn't shot. And his suppliers were out of business before then.

"That's the bakery behind the mess hall." Hogan pointed. "The small brick building."

"Why is it separate?"

"Fire hazard. Gets too hot in there. That's why it's brick."

"Colonel! Colonel Randall!" A thin, worn-looking lieutenant approached, trailed by Captain Martin.

"What is it, Gayles?" Randall asked as he returned the salute.

"Sir, we've got a problem."

"All ready?" Randall shot a glance at Martin.

"Yes, sir. Since I'm the only mess officer, I'd been assuming that I'd have a full staff here, sir," Gayles said. "But Captain Martin said the Jerries did the cooking."

"What?" Randall turned to Hogan.

Hogan managed not to smile. "Normal, sir. The German staff, about twenty-five noncoms and privates, did the cooking; our guys did KP, serving and cleaning"

"You have no cooks?"

"Every barracks has several men who prepare meals from the Red Cross packages. That's it."

"And there's another problem, sir," Gayles said. "There are no supplies in the mess. At least, nothing worth bothering with."

"No supplies?" Randall said in a too even voice.

"Not what I'd consider supplies. Tons of potatoes, many of them bruised, some rotting. Most of the vegetables — mainly cabbages, turnips, rutabagas — aren't fit for pigs. Bread, black, made with sawdust, nearly hard as rock. No meat, margarine, jam — "

"Welcome to Nazi Germany," Hogan said quietly.

Randall scowled; Hogan wondered briefly if that was his habitual expression. "I didn't realize things were so bad here."

"And this camp is the best in Germany," Hogan said without a trace of a smile.

"Okay, Gayles. Go to Crowley. He's at the motor pool with the trucks. Get what supplies you need."

"Yes, sir. But what about staff?"

"Do what you can. The men will have to rely on their barracks' cooks for today. I'll make an announcement tonight and get you volunteers for the mess hall."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, Hogan, where's this Rizzo?"

"This way, sir."

Hogan and Randall walked away.

To Martin's surprise, Gayles gave a loud sigh of relief. "What's wrong?"

"He took it better than I thought."

"Huh?"

"I heard Randall's guys talking on the way here. He likes things nice and orderly. Takes it personal when things don't go well."

"His guys? Aren't you one of them?"

Gayles shook his head. "A week ago, I was on a transport from New Jersey. And yesterday, I was told to show up at the airfield at 3 a.m. And nobody said anything about parachuting out of an airplane. Thought I'd wet my pants on the way down."

Martin smiled faintly. "If it makes you feel better, I've seen pilots do that."

"You're not just saying that?"

Martin shook his head and smiled. "No. So, you know nothing about Randall either."

"Half of us have never heard of him until yesterday. And nobody bothered to tell us where we were going or what conditions were like."

"Sounds like Randall didn't know either."

Gayles blinked. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Weird. Uh, where's this motor pool I'm supposed to go to, sir?"

"Follow me, Gayles."

...

Captain Neil Crowley, a man who seemed to have a permanent case of sour stomach, glared at them. "I wasn't told about releasing any supplies to anyone."

"Colonel Randall just gave us the orders," Martin said, shooting a glance at a tongue-tied Gayles.

The sourpuss expression grew even more sour. "He did? Where is he?"

"Taking a tour of the camp with Colonel Hogan."

Crowley grunted. "Okay. But there better not be a mistake."

"Mistake?"

"Just take enough for the officers' mess."

"No," Martin said. "We need food for everyone."

Gayles finally found his voice. "There aren't what I'd call edible foodstuffs in the mess kitchen. And there are twenty-seven hundred men to feed."

"Twenty-seven hundred? I heard twenty-five hundred."

"No," Martin said evenly. "Twenty-seven hundred."

Crowley's scowl grew deeper. "Okay. Just take enough for tonight. And then give me a list for tomorrow." He turned to some of the men unloading the trucks. "You guys help Lt. Gayles get his stuff together." After a nod, Crowley walked away.

Martin looked around curiously. "What's his problem? He's acting more protective toward this stuff than Langenscheidt."

"Who?"

"Corporal, I mean Sergeant Langenscheidt. He's the German who was in charge of supplies. He kept a pretty tight rein on everything. Then again, he had to, given how little there was."

"Maybe I should go see him and whoever was in charge of the kitchen."

"I think it would be a good idea," Martin said. "But what would Randall think?"

Gayles suddenly looked nervous. "Maybe I should let him get used to the place before I ask him."

Martin glanced at Gayles curiously, but said nothing. He looked at the boxes being unloaded from the trucks. And frowned. From the labels on some of the boxes, there seemed to be a lot of luxury goods in this shipment. Luxury was fine. But what they really needed were basic supplies — food, clothing, shoes. Somehow, that box labeled caviar didn't fit that description. He shook his head, taking mental notes. Notes he would compare later with the other officers and Hogan.

...

Hogan and Randall walked past a few barracks buildings.

"Rizzo's in this one." Hogan gestured at Barracks 37. He led the way inside.

"Hi, Colonel," said one of the men sitting at the table.

"Rizzo in?"

"Yes, sir," said the private, oblivious to Randall's disapproving look.

"Thanks." Hogan walked over to a door in the right wall and knocked.

"Come in," said a loud voice. "Colonel," greeted the sergeant sitting at the table. "Uh, Colonel," he repeated as he saw Randall.

"Sergeant Tony Rizzo, this is Colonel Randall," Hogan introduced.

"Welcome to the camp, Colonel," Rizzo said with a grin. Which faded as Randall looked coldly at him. "Uh, what can I do for you?"

"Have you got an updated map of the camp?" Hogan asked.

Rizzo shot Randall another look and turned to the large rolled charts standing in a wooden barrel. "I've got a couple of draft copies." He pulled out the charts one by one, looking at them. "Here's one you can have." He unrolled the chart and put it on the table. He looked at it briefly and nodded. "Yeah, this has all the latest changes."

Randall looked at the rough map. "Is this the best you've got?" he asked as another man, shorter, bulkier, walked in.

"For now," Rizzo said evenly.

"This is Sergeant Conway Doyle, Colonel," Hogan introduced. "The other half of our building geniuses. They've done wonders."

"So I see," Randall said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "We're finished here, Hogan." He turned and left the small room.

"Thanks, Rizzo," Hogan said quietly, following Randall out.

Rizzo nodded as Doyle looked at him curiously.

"That wasn't the map you've been working on," Doyle said.

Rizzo smiled with an odd grimness. "You mean this one?" He pulled a thick parchment-like roll from the barrel and unrolled it. A beautifully worked color map was laid on the table. "This one and the other one are for Hogan and Klink."

"That's what I thought."

...

Randall saw the car standing beside the infirmary, and he stopped. "Who ordered that car out of the motor pool?"

"The car belongs to Doctor Ernst Bauer, the only doctor left in town. He comes by every few days to check on the infirmary patients and anyone else who needs to see him."

"A kraut doctor is seeing our soldiers?"

"He's the only doctor in the area," Hogan said evenly. "Sergeant Wilson and his volunteer medics can only do so much."

"There's no doctor in camp?"

Hogan shook his head. "No, sir. Never. We weren't big enough to warrant one."

"So, our soldiers just died."

"No, sir. If needed, a doctor from the hospital in Hammelburg would come out, or a prisoner was taken there. But now," he shrugged, "the hospital's gone, as well as the other clinics. After his place burned down, Bauer took over one of the empty estates near here and turned it into a clinic. The other doctors left during the fire and never came back."

"How come he stayed?"

"He was born and raised in Hammelburg. Never wanted to go anywhere else. Good doctor, good man."

Randall opened the infirmary door. He stopped, blinking at the rows of cots. "Why are these men here?"

"Mainly dysentery and pneumonia. These men are from the last group of prisoners we got — over three hundred — from other camps. They were a mess — malnourished, lice-infested, in rags, and many of them were sick. These men are still in poor shape. It was better to house them here in relative seclusion rather than putting them in the more crowded barracks."

"I see." Randall looked around. He spotted the civilian near the back with a sturdily built sergeant. "Who's that?"

"Sergeant Wilson, our medic."

Randall walked closer.

Doctor Bauer was bent over a man with a bandaged stump of an arm. "The discomfort is small?" he asked as he flexed the remains of the arm.

"Yeah," said the man lying on the cot. "Though once in awhile, I get those funny feelings that Corporal Kaufmann told me about."

"Ja. It is called . . . how it is in Englisch . . . Ah! Phantom limb. As if the arm is still there."

"Yeah. Really weird. Corporal Kaufmann says he still gets it once in awhile, and his arm's been gone a couple of years now."

"Ja, that is what happens. It is healing well."

"Thanks to you, doc."

Bauer shook his head. "Sergeant Wilson and Corporal Kaufmann also deserve the thanks."

The man grinned. "I know. But thanks anyway."

Bauer straightened up and smiled. "Auf Wiedersehen." He and Wilson moved away, toward the front. "He is doing well. But I would like him to exercise more."

"No problem, Doctor."

"Gut. Are there any more patients?"

"Nope. That's it."

"Gut." He picked up his bag. "I will see you in a few days."

Bauer and Wilson began walking toward the door.

"Colonel Hogan," Bauer greeted.

"Hello, Doctor. I'd like you to meet the new commanding officer, Colonel Randall. Colonel, this is Doctor Bauer."

"Welcome, Colonel," Bauer said, holding out his hand.

It was ignored. Randall glanced at him briefly before looking at Wilson.

Hogan managed to keep the anger out of his voice. Just. "This is our medic, Sergeant Frank Wilson."

"Colonel." Wilson nodded a greeting, hiding his own annoyance.

"You're the only medic in camp?"

Wilson nodded. "I've trained a few of the men to help me here. And some of the guys have taken a crash medics course. Then again, we've been a healthy group for a long time. And if anyone needed more than I can do, the Kommandant had them taken to the hospital or one of the clinics. But since the fire, well, Doctor Bauer's it."

"So I heard."

"Sir," Wilson asked, "is there a medic among the men you brought?"

"No." Randall turned and looked around at the men lying in the cots. Some were sleeping; the rest, reading or talking. "They don't look sick to me."

"They are," Bauer said quietly, after shooting a glance at Hogan. "Some are recovering from pneumonia, two are recent amputees, and the rest have lingering cases of dysentery. They should all be in hospitals. However, given the conditions, Sergeant Wilson and his assistants are providing excellent care."

Randall grunted, obviously unimpressed, and walked back to the door. The others followed him. At the door, he almost walked into a private who was coming in.

"Uh, sorry, sir." The private, Ken Tiptoe, stepped aside.

"I can see that discipline here stinks, Hogan," Randall said. "What the hell are you doing here, private?"

"This is Ken Tiptoe," Hogan said evenly. "He's the unofficial chaplain in the camp."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I come here often, Colonel. Talking to the men, praying with them, helping wherever I can."

"He also directs the camp's choir," Wilson said, trying to lighten the mood. "Getting ready for an Easter show now. Right, Ken?"

"Yes, sir, we are."

"Shows?" Randall sneered. "I don't think so, private. No shows, no choirs. Not until this camp is whipped into shape." With those less than encouraging words, Randall walked out, leaving behind four concerned men.

"Colonel," Tiptoe started.

"Not now, Tiptoe," Hogan said firmly. "I think it's time Randall and I had a talk." Hogan walked off, following the new commanding officer.

And didn't get far before there was another interruption.

"Colonel Randall!" The stocky Major Matthews, trailed by a lieutenant, puffed his way up.

"What is it, Matthews?"

"We've got a problem."

"What?" Randall snapped.

"Uh, Iverson and I were at the radio room, and there are these two ni-Negroes in there. And they're not budging. Said they had orders."

Randall turned to Hogan. "Orders?"

Hogan kept his voice even. "Sergeant Kinchloe and Sergeant Baker. Since the surrender, they've been taking turns listening to the German radio messages."

"What the hell for?"

"We're surrounded by the Fifth Panzer Army, which is part of Field Marshall Model's Army Group B," Hogan said. "As far as the Germans are concerned, if they know we're here, and some of them do, we're still Klink's prisoners. We need to know what they're up to."

Randall frowned. "I was told this area is cut off."

"It is, sir. But . . . It might be better if I showed you."

"It might," Randall said slowly. "Iverson, get a car and one of the jeeps. And some guys for an escort. You know who. Matthews, I want to see this radio room."

"Yes, sir. This way." Matthews led the way. Iverson headed back to the motor pool, and Hogan trailed after Randall.

Matthews nearly banged the door open. Kinch and Baker, with headphones over their ears, stood, startled, but at attention. To Hogan's surprise, Baker even managed a salute, which Randall ignored.

"Sergeant James Kinchloe and Sergeant Richard Baker," Hogan introduced.

"And why are they here?" Randall asked.

"They're listening to the German transmissions," Hogan said patiently.

"They understand German?"

Hogan nodded. "And speak it fluently."

"I see. Unusual to find ni-Negroes so educated." He glanced at the radio. "Anything interesting?"

"No, sir," Kinch said evenly. "Just routine transmissions so far."

Randall looked around. "Doesn't seem to be room in here for our radio."

"We can make room, sir," Baker said.

Randall shook his head. "We'll put it in my office for now." A tight smile. "And leave you men by yourselves." He turned abruptly. "You were going to show me something, Hogan."

"Yes, sir. If you'll follow me."

Randall followed Hogan out, and Matthews trailed behind.

"What do you think, Kinch?" Baker asked quietly.

"Doesn't like coloreds, does he?"

"Not one bit," Baker agreed.

...

"Any other German speakers in camp?" Randall asked as he got into the staff car.

Hogan, already in, glanced at him. "A few. Did you bring any with you, sir?"

"Snyder speaks it. I'll have to check with Matthews."

"Speaking may not be enough, sir," Hogan said. "The radio traffic, well, a lot of it is directions to the Panzer units, map coordinates and the like. It takes awhile to get used to the dialogue, and the accents too."

"And your men have?"

Hogan nodded. "We've had plenty of practice."

"Okay, Hogan. Which way do we go?"

Hogan leaned forward to give, he was less than pleased to find out, Chaykin directions.

...

They had stopped before the bend in the road leading to the remains of the Adolf Hitler Bridge. Hogan led Randall, Chaykin, Matthews and a couple of armed guards up the hillside overlooking the bridge. At the crest of the hill, Hogan handed Randall the field glasses.

"You can just make out the remains of the road on the other side of the ravine."

Randall lifted the glasses to his eyes. The road had been all but obliterated. Huge craters pockmarked its remains and the surrounding woods. Large trees had been splintered into thick pieces of kindling and littered the countryside. His eyes followed the barely visible trail in both directions.

"What a mess!" Matthews remarked. "Not even a tank could get over that."

"That was the idea," Hogan said.

Randall didn't say anything. He turned and went back down the frozen hillside.

An hour later, they were on the lodge's terrace overlooking the plain. Randall and his men could see remains of the tanks and equipment that had been destroyed just days before. And they could also see the remaining tanks and troops fanning out over the countryside.

Randall lowered the glasses from his eyes. "Any idea how many men are down there?"

Hogan shrugged. "Maybe 80,000. Army Group B has over 300,000."

"We're surrounded by 80,000 krauts?" There was panic in Matthews' voice.

"Roughly," Hogan said.

"And what's going to keep them down there?" Randall asked grimly.

Hogan jerked a thumb toward the pass. "The blocked pass and roads. The only way up here is by some pretty rugged trails. It's an all-day hike down there. Longer getting up here."

Randall was looking at the blocked pass. "Lucky that pass is gone."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Hogan said. "It was arranged."

"Arranged?" Matthews exclaimed as Randall looked at Hogan.

"Yes, arranged."

"By who?" Randall asked.

Hogan looked at him evenly. "The Stage."

Randall stared at him as Matthews gaped openly. Then he laughed. "You almost had me believing you, Hogan." Randall lifted the glasses to his eyes again.

Hogan could feel a vein throbbing in his skull, and oddly in his wounded forearm. "The Stage arranged the bombing runs that blocked the pass and blew the road on the other side of the bridge."

"The Stage is a myth," Randall said. "A fairytale invented to explain kraut mistakes and our good planning."

"The Stage is real," Hogan said quietly. "No myth."

"And you've met him?" Randall said with a laugh. "Right."

Hogan managed to bite back the reply he wanted to make. Instead, "Since you do have a radio, sir, you might ask London about the Stage. And whether they think he's a myth."

Randall grinned without humor. "I've seen enough." He turned back to the lodge, his eyes sweeping the sturdy building. "Nice place."

"Maybe we should stay here," Matthews suggested.

Randall grinned at him. "Maybe. Keep an eye on the tanks down there."

Matthews also grinned; Hogan decided he didn't like either smile. He shook his head as Randall and Matthews walked into the lodge. Hogan followed.

"Guten Tag, Herr Oberst," Frau Engel said nervously. "Und . . . " Her voice trailed off as she looked at Randall, Matthews and the others.

"Guten Tag, Frau Engel," Hogan said. "Darf ich vorstellen Oberst Randall und Major Matthews. Herr Oberst ist der neue Kommandant von Stalag 13." He turned to Randall. "I told her you're the new commandant at the camp, Colonel. This is Frau Engel; she's the owner."

"She doesn't speak English?"

"No. Though many folks do, especially the ones who were in the Resistance."

Chaykin tried to hide a snicker and earned a look from Hogan, and oddly Matthews.

Randall's eyes swept the large lounge room. "Cozy place. Tell her we'll be back later, Hogan. To keep an eye on those tanks."

Hogan turned to the puzzled woman and added a reassuring smile as he relayed the message. He was a bit surprised when she bobbed her head nervously, shooting a glance at Chaykin and the others. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but Randall and the others were already out the door. "Auf Wiedersehen," he said with a smile and followed the others out.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Oberst," she whispered.

"Mama? Was ist los?" asked her twelve-year-old son.

"Nothing, Liebchen." She smiled at him, hiding her worry. "Stefan, I need to go to town now." She pulled a worn coat from a closet and put it on. "Watch Gottfried and Susanne while I am gone. That's a good boy." She kissed him quickly and hurried out the door.

"Jawohl, Mama." The thin boy walked into the kitchen where his seven-year-old brother and three-year-old sister were sitting at the table, eating a meager lunch.

...

It was almost dusk when Hogan and the others returned to camp. To his surprise, Randall ordered a formation of all the men. Not expecting the order and used to falling out more or less at their own speed, it took awhile before the former prisoners were lined up. Hogan sighed silently. He could see that Randall was less than pleased. But to his mild surprise, Randall didn't say anything. He merely introduced Lt. Brian Gayles who nervously asked for sixty volunteer cooks to take over the duties of the locked up Germans. They were to meet him in the mess hall at 2000.

And that was it. Well almost. Randall announced a curfew for 2100. Then the men were dismissed and Randall, followed by Matthews, disappeared into the office.

Hogan's men and the captains gathered around him as he looked impassively at the office building. As they stood there, the others talked softly about what had been going on.

"There's about fifteen of them," Martin said evenly. "Including Colonel Randall and Major Matthews."

"The 'special' ones," Warren said with an edge to his voice. "They've been together before. And they're the ones in charge of supplies — "

"That's Crowley," Martin said.

"Weapons and Operations is Matthews. Communications and Transportation is Lt. Iverson," Warren continued. "Personnel is Lt. Tiller. Security is Lt. Akins The rest are noncoms."

"What about the others, the nonspecial ones?" Hogan asked.

"Gayles is the only officer, picked up at the last minute," Martin said. "The others are all privates, clerical types, drivers, and the like."

"Then there are the MPs," Mitchell said grimly.

Hogan looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, sir, MPs. Thirty-eight of them, most recruited from Barracks 79, including Chaykin and Yeager."

Hogan nodded. "What about the former guards?"

"Still locked in a barracks, the one used by Schultz and Gruber," Witton said.

Hogan raised a brow. "Kind of crowded with all of them in there."

"Kind of," Witton agreed.

"They'll be okay, Colonel," Newkirk said. "They've got water and we managed to sneak in some Red Cross packages when their guards weren't looking."

Hogan smiled briefly. "Well, it's just the first day. Randall and the others will loosen up." _I hope!_ "Thanks, men. Let me know if anything unusual happens."

"Will do, Colonel," Witton said.

Hogan nodded. "Good night then." He started for his barracks, followed by his team. "Who's on the radio tonight?" he asked Kinch.

"Lt. Miller and Sergeant Schubert. Oh, that Corporal Snyder came by. He listened to some of the messages."

"And?"

Kinch shook his head. "Most went right over his head. And the ones he did get, he didn't understand."

"Figures. Is he the only German speaker among them?"

"Seems to be."

_Not very good planning on Randall's part_, he found himself thinking. And wondering what Randall had been told about the camp. At the door to the barracks, he glanced around the now dark compound. There were still searchlights combing the grounds and the woods outside. He'd forgotten to ask who was manning the lights. The men Mitchell had assigned or had they been replaced? He shook his head. Not his job now or his responsibility. So, why did he still feel responsible? "I have a responsibility to these men," he'd told Klink a couple of weeks ago. And having someone else in charge didn't change that, not in his mind. Or did he just not want it to change? He was giving himself a headache now. Too much excitement. Too much thinking. He shook his head irritably. Far too much thinking. He turned to go in.

And caught sight of the cooler. "Damn!" he whispered.

"Sir?" came Newkirk's voice from inside the barracks.

"What? Nothing. Just clearing my throat." But his eyes lingered on the cooler. _At least it's not as cold as it has been. He's fine; stop mothering him._

Hogan walked into the barracks and closed the door.

...

Colonel Wilhelm Klink, former kommandant of Stalag Luft 13, sat on the floor of his cell. He had been placed in one of the cells furthest from the entrance. It was, unlike some of the others, an open cell with bars for walls, except for the rear wall. It was also a bare cell with only a slop bucket in it. No blanket, no cot, no table, no chair, no washbasin, no water.

He'd been here since ten this morning, about twelve hours he guessed. The major who locked him in had taken his watch and other effects, including his monocle and riding crop, putting them on a small table in the corridor. In all this time, no one had come in; in all this time, he had been given no food or water. Definitely not in accordance with the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention.

A faint smile. How often had Hogan quoted the Geneva Convention to him over the past few years? But never had Hogan needed to quote it because a prisoner was denied food and water or because a prisoner was put into such a barren cell. A glance around. This cell had always been used for storage, never for prisoners. In fact, there had been very few prisoners in the cooler over the past few months. Overall, few in the lifetime of the camp, and most of those had been Hogan's men.

A sound came from the entrance. Finally, someone remembered he was here.

Randall, some of the men who had come with him and a man he recognized as one of the former prisoners came into view. They'd obviously been drinking.

Klink stood and waited for them

Randall walked to the cell and smiled at him. "Comfortable, kraut?"

"Not really," Klink said.

Randall snarled. "Forgetting military courtesy, kraut? You're supposed to stand at attention when addressing a superior officer."

Klink silently did as he was told, his body a rigid line.

Randall, Matthews and the prisoner he'd recognized, Yeager, walked into the cell; the other two men stayed outside.

"We've been hearing some interesting stories about you, Klink," Randall said. "Seems some people think you're a real dummy. Too bad. I was hoping to have a talk with you."

"We can still talk, Colonel," Klink said slowly. "Of 'graves, of worms, and epitaphs make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth . . .'"

"What?" Matthews said, shooting a surprised glance at Randall.

"Shakespeare, Major," Klink said, hiding his dismay at Randall's indifference. "Richard II, Act three, Scene two, verse one hundred and forty four."

Randall was silent for a moment. Then he laughed. "A kraut who quotes Shakespeare!" He stepped closer to Klink. "I'd rather talk of other things, Klink. Such as troop movements, artillery deployment and other things."

"I don't know too much about those things, Colonel," Klink said. "But I will tell you what I do know."

"Good. Start talking, Klink," Randall said with a cold smile. "Snyder, take notes."

"Yes, sir," said the corporal.

Klink, still standing at attention, began talking. The information he gave them was accurate. As far as it went. He told them only what had been told to Kommandant Klink by his superiors. Whatever else he knew, he kept to himself. He still felt that thread of surprise that Randall didn't recognize the quote. Or did Randall not want to recognize it? Klink wasn't certain. At any rate, that avenue was closed to him. Now he would have to rely on Hogan for help. He wasn't too worried. A man who could lie through his teeth to the Gestapo and get away with it should be able to deal with Randall. He would be breaking one of his own rules by having Hogan appeal to London, but he had no intention of allowing Randall to stay in charge.

He finished giving all the information he intended to give to Randall.

Randall nodded with seeming appreciation. "Very good, Colonel. You're learning. What about other stuff? Like who are the Nazis in town."

"I had very little to do with the town," Klink said slowly. "But most of the Nazis have left. The few remaining are women or infirm. Colonel Hogan can give you the details."

"Yeah, Hogan. At least, he seemed to know what he was doing there."

"He is a very able man," Klink said.

Randall snorted. "And a privileged one as well. I guess he cooperated with you."

"For the sake of the prisoners, yes," Klink said cautiously. "If you mean he provided military information, the answer is no."

Randall laughed unpleasantly. "I bet. You two seemed to have a nice thing going. I've heard this called the toughest POW camp in Germany."

Klink almost smiled, but Randall's look chilled him.

"You know what I think when I hear a phrase like that, kraut?" Randall stepped closer to him.

"No one has ever been mistreated here, Colonel," Klink said. "You can ask any man in camp."

"Oh, I have asked. Most aren't saying much of anything. Seems to me that they're scared. Of Hogan. And of you."

"That's ridicu — " Klink started, unconsciously slipping into his kommandant voice.

Randall hit him.

Startled, Klink fell back against the bars of the cell, the side of his lip bleeding.

A fist slammed into his midsection. Another followed. His last coherent thought was that Randall would never let Hogan near him.


	6. Chapter 6

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 6

A noise intruded on Hogan's sleep. Loud, incessant and familiar. He knew that sound. But where . . .

_Oh good God, reveille! Some idiot's blowing reveille at_, he squinted at his watch, _5:30 in the morning!_

He snapped awake. And sat up in the bed, hearing the sounds of grumbling men in the main room. Hogan got out of bed and hastily pulled on his clothes.

He walked into the common room just as the door blasted open, sending a wave of freezing air into the barracks.

"Rise and shine, boys!" Yeager said with a relish and a wide grin. "Speed it up; you're holding up the war."

And he left hurriedly after he looked at the faces of the disgruntled men.

Randall and Matthews came out on the porch. Before them, the men shivered in front of their barracks in the darkness. The searchlights had been turned inside the camp, increasing the eerie feel to the pre-dawn morning.

"Attention!" Matthews snapped.

Surprised, the men in the immediate vicinity slowly settled themselves into some semblance of attention, falling silent. But that order wasn't heard in the farthest areas of the camp. There, the men shivered and talked and moved about in an effort to get warm.

And Randall wasn't pleased. "I have never seen a more sorry excuse for a formation in my life." His voice was now carried by the camp's public address system. "You are pathetic! You're slovenly, unkempt! Poor excuses for men, never mind soldiers! Well, your free ride is over. From now on, you're going to be drilled and drilled and drilled until you remember that you're supposed to be soldiers! So, let's try it again. In fifteen minutes, you will be clean-shaven, dressed in uniform and assembled in formation. Or I will know the reason why! Dismissed."

He turned and stalked into the office.

And Hogan, a dark look on his face, followed him.

"Colonel," Matthews began.

Hogan walked into the inner office without bothering to knock, surprising Randall. And he didn't bother waiting for Randall to acknowledge him. "I think we need to have a talk, Colonel Randall. And we're going to have one, whether you like it or not!

"London saw fit to put you in command. Fine. I'm sure they had their reasons. You also think we need to get the camp into shape. Fine, we do. But there are a few things you need to keep in mind. You seem to be under the impression that we've had a cakewalk here. That we've been loafing or goofing off. Let me remind you, sir, that up until four days ago, this was a prisoner of war camp!

"It might interest you to know that your order wasn't understood by a couple of hundred men. You see, sir, they don't happen to speak English. We've got men from all over — France, Belgium, Britain, the Commonwealth, and a few other places. Nearly half of the men here aren't from the U.S. And those men don't have a clue how the U.S. Army operates. All they know is _their_ army.

"Half of the men here arrived since November. But the rest have been here a hell of a long time. Some of them over five years. And it hasn't been easy for them. Klink honored the Geneva Convention as far as he was able. But circumstances and his superiors didn't always make that easy. We've had Gestapo, SS, Abwehr and God knows who else waltzing in here at one time or another, threatening not only Klink but us as well with harsher conditions, torture or death. Clothing, food, medical care, heat — everything we needed, never mind wanted — were provided only if there was money or supplies available. And since the beginning of the year, money and supplies disappeared faster than the number of prisoners increased.

"Morale at times wasn't too great. No matter what Klink gave us, no matter what we could get from the outside, no matter how many Christmas or Easter shows or whatever Tiptoe and the others put on, no matter how many jokes we told, the plain truth was that we were still in a prison, with barbed wire, electrified fences, and guns with real bullets pointed at us. Not to mention that for a long time, the war news wasn't exactly the greatest from our point of view.

"And then you and your men waltz in, with your perfectly tailored uniforms and well-groomed appearance. From the looks of you, I doubt you've ever been really sick or cold or hungry or scared during this war. Well, most of the men in here have. They're survivors, and I think, sir, you'd better remember that before you start treating them as malingerers!"

"Are you finished, Hogan?" Randall said tightly.

"No, not quite. You ordered the men to be clean-shaven. Did you happen to bring any razors with you? Most of the barracks have one razor for twenty men, so many of the men don't bother shaving. Did you bring uniforms for the men? Some of us do have more than one uniform. Those of us who have been here awhile were lucky enough to get spare uniforms and clothing from home or the Red Cross. But the newer guys, well, they were lucky to get a letter from home, never mind a package of clothing, since they've been here. And things got a lot worse when over three hundred men arrived a few weeks ago in lice-infested rags. Those rags were burned. Which meant that the other guys had to share the little they had. I'm sorry they offend your sensibilities, Colonel, but — "

"Enough!" Randall stood, anger darkening his face. But he made a visible effort to control himself. "I wasn't aware that things were so . . . tough here. Perhaps I was a bit overzealous." He smiled agreeably. "Have a seat, Hogan. Major, rescind my order, will you? Tell the men we'll have a muster at 0800. Maybe by then they'll be a bit more presentable."

"Uh, yes, sir." Matthews saluted and left.

"Have a seat, Hogan," Randall said again; this time, Hogan did. Randall also sat. "We seem to have started out on the wrong foot, Hogan."

"Have we?"

The smile dimmed at his tone, but the voice was still pleasant. "Care for a cigar, Hogan?" Randall opened the cigar box.

Klink's cigar box. "No, thank you, sir."

Randall took out a cigar, bit off the end and lit it. He blew a perfect circle of smoke. "Good cigar."

"Yes, sir. Klink appreciates the finer things in life," Hogan said less coolly.

"At least in cigars. And wine."

"Yes, sir. And music."

"A rare bird for a military man. How did he get here?"

"You'll have to ask him, sir. But," he smiled faintly, "his military reputation is less than stellar."

"So they put him here."

"Which was good for all of us."

Randall swiveled around in his chair. "Oh?"

"Someone more gung-ho, more military . . . Well, we've had those types show up when Klink went on leave or the higher-ups were thinking of sending him somewhere else. They tended to do things like confiscate the Red Cross packages, cut back on the food, increase security. In other words, they made life more miserable than it already was."

"And Klink didn't?"

"Klink followed the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention as much as he was able. And as long as we didn't threaten his command or his reputation, he ignored minor infractions of the rules. Sometimes, not so minor infractions. Made life a lot more tolerable for the men."

Randall leaned back in the chair and blew smoke at the ceiling. "The men? Or you?"

"The men."

Another smoke circle rose. "That's not what I heard."

"What you heard, sir, is wrong," Hogan said evenly.

Randall's smile was mocking. "That remains to be seen, Hogan. Dismissed."

His expression composed, Hogan stood; Randall stayed seated. Keeping his voice even, Hogan asked, "Do I have your permission to see Colonel Klink?"

A plume of smoke wafted gently to the ceiling. "No."

His voice became more detached. "Why not, sir?"

"Because I said so, Hogan," Randall said with mock pleasantness.

Hogan's "Yes, sir," was forced and he saluted.

Randall tossed off a salute. "One more thing, Hogan. You've used up your quota of goodwill from me for the duration." Ashes from the cigar fell on the floor. "From now on, you'd better do everything by the book. Or else." And he smiled.

Hogan's face was a frozen mask as he left the office. Behind the closing door, he could hear Randall's mocking laughter.

...

Bürgermeister Scheinfeld, the Town Council, Doctor Bauer and Monsignor Geisler had listened with dismay to the new commanding officer of the camp and the town. The area would be under martial law; they had expected that. It was no surprise when all the weapons, what few there were, were confiscated. What they had not expected were the tight restrictions placed on the townspeople's movement and activities in and around the area. And the new commanding officer made it clear that every infraction of his rules, no matter how slight, would be severely punished.

Their dismay grew as they realized that there would be no contact with the camp, especially the man they had thought would be in charge, Colonel Hogan. As for Kommandant Klink, apparently he had been locked in the cooler and no one was allowed to see him.

Their dismay turned to hatred all too quickly. Many of Randall's men and the men they'd recruited from Barracks 79 had the manners the townspeople had come to expect from the Gestapo and SS. When they came to town in the evening, it was to get drunk. Since the fire, the town was struggling to stay alive. The new men didn't care. They took what they wanted when they wanted it. Food, drink, goods in the few remaining shops, people's possessions.

And more.

...

"I'm coming!" Doctor Bauer said groggily as he stumbled down the stairs to the back door.

He opened the door. What he saw brought him instantly awake. He stepped out to help the old man. "Herr Mannheim!" He led the old man to a chair. "What happened?"

Then he looked at the girl with the elderly man and drew his breath in sharply. "Mein Gott!"

The weeping girl collapsed into his arms.

Bauer's eyes narrowed as he held the battered girl close. He didn't need to ask what happened. Her torn clothing, the bruises and the blood on the remains of her slip told it all. As for the old man, he must have come upon the men as they were raping his granddaughter. These new Allies had a great deal to answer for.

...

Monsignor Geisler wasn't surprised to see some unexpected faces in the back pew when he said the early morning Mass. The church was one of the few places where people were allowed to gather.

"We must do something!" Hausner whispered to Krueger.

"What can we do? We are helpless!" Scheinfeld groaned. "Those men have taken over. We should never have surrendered!"

"We are treated worse than dirt," Hausner began.

"We know that," Bauer said. "The question is, what do we do?"

"We must let Hogan know," Oskar Schnitzer, one of the new members of the Town Council, said softly. "His superiors must be told."

"What good would that do?" demanded Krueger. "They sent Randall here."

"I cannot believe they would condone Randall's actions," Schnitzer said.

"Perhaps they do condone it," Otto Metzer, the other newly appointed member of the Council, said glumly. "Have we fought one group of masters to be saddled with another?"

"Don't talk like that, Otto," Schnitzer said. "You helped Hogan as well."

"I thought I knew what we were fighting for, Oskar," Otto said with discouragement. "Now, I do not know any more."

"Otto, you do not mean that," Schnitzer said in a troubled voice.

"It was not your sister who was raped!"

Doctor Bauer looked startled. "There has been another rape?"

Otto nodded.

"Why did you not call me?" Bauer asked.

"It was past curfew. Mama is looking after Ketti."

"Is she otherwise hurt?"

Otto shook his head.

"That make three rapes," Scheinfeld said gloomily, "in two days. And how many beatings? And thefts?"

"We must protect ourselves, especially our women," Krueger said. "It is too early for us to gauge their strength or support. Keep the women away from them, and the children. As for the men, for now we cannot afford to defy them."

A harsh laugh from Otto. "It is like living with the Nazis again."

"We defeated the Nazis," Schnitzer said with determination. "We can defeat them."

"What about Colonel Hogan?" Bauer asked.

"Hogan." Krueger's tone was derisive.

"He is a good man," Schnitzer said. "He can help us."

"We cannot get near him," Hausner said. "Those guards have blocked the roads to the camp."

"Perhaps we can," Schnitzer said. "At least we can try."

"Yes," Bauer agreed. "We can try."


	7. Chapter 7

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 7

The former prison camp was not a happy place. The men who had been there the longest had trouble adjusting to the severe regime Randall had placed on them. Hogan and the other officers complained about the excessive restrictions; it was worse than the restrictions they had faced under Klink. But Randall refused to listen; his orders, he'd said, where to whip the former prisoners into fighting shape. And that was exactly what he would do.

Randall had made his contempt of Hogan obvious. Most of the others, officers and men, wondered how long it would be before Hogan stopped taking it. Some of them were sorely tempted to tell Randall the real story of the camp. But Hogan, saying that London had to have a good reason for not informing Randall, put a stop to the impending mutiny. Overall, Hogan made the best he could out of Randall's orders, modifying them when he could, bearing with them when he couldn't. But there were some things he wouldn't tolerate.

Hogan had his hand on the office door when he heard the muffled scream inside. He banged the door open.

Inside, he saw Hilda, her blouse ripped, struggling with Matthews. Hogan didn't stop to think as he grabbed Matthews and pulled him off the weeping girl. Matthews fell into the filing cabinet with a curse as Randall opened the inner door.

Hogan stood protectively in front of the crying Hilda.

"What's going on here?" Randall demanded.

Hogan's furious eyes swung to him. "I think you know! Don't tell me you didn't hear her scream!"

Randall shrugged. "Matthews was just having some fun."

"Fun?" Hogan's eyes blazed as he looked at Randall. "You call this fun?"

Randall smiled.

Hogan's anger boiled over. "You can do whatever you damn well want with this camp, Randall. Whether I like it or not, you are in charge. But Hilda is off limits. For you and your men! Is that clear?!"

Randall stiffened. "Do you know who you're talking to, Hogan?"

"I don't give a damn if you're a five-star general!" Hogan said tightly. "You and your goons stay away from her! Is that understood?"

"Sure, Hogan, sure," Randall said, his eyes narrowing. "I didn't realize she was your property."

"She's no one's property." Hogan fought to keep his temper. "Especially not yours!"

"Okay, Hogan." Randall smiled coldly. "Point taken. Get out of here, Jimmy. And remember what Colonel Hogan said."

Matthews rose to his feet, shooting a glance at Randall. Mumbling under his breath, he left the office.

"No harm done," Randall said smoothly and turned to go back to his office.

"Randall," Hogan said; Randall's back stiffened. "I want to see Klink. And I want to see him now!"

Randall turned back to Hogan with a deadly smile. "Denied, Hogan. And it will stay denied. No one is going to see him until the High Command decides what to do with the bastard."

"Why?"

"That, Hogan, is none of your damn business! Anything else, Hogan?"

"No." He managed to force the word through tight lips.

"Good." Again, that smile. "And, Hogan, if you forget my rank one more time, I'll have you locked up and held for court-martial. Understood?"

Hogan stiffened. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Randall returned to his office.

Hogan turned to Hilda. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

Hilda nodded, struggling to control her tears, holding her torn blouse with a hand.

Hogan went to get her coat. "Here." He held it for her.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan."

"Come on," Hogan said. "I'm getting you out of here."

Retrieving her purse, Hilda left with him.

"Hilda, I don't want you going anywhere alone," Hogan said quietly as they walked across the compound. "And I don't want you being alone."

Hilda nodded. "My roommate and her uncle will be coming in an hour."

"Okay. You can stay with us in the barracks until then."

Hilda nodded. "Colonel Hogan," she started hesitantly.

"I don't know, Hilda," Hogan answered her unspoken question. "Yet."

They reached the barracks and entered.

The men inside were surprised and pleased to see her, until they saw the tears still in her eyes.

"Why don't you rest in my office?" Hogan suggested.

The girl nodded and went into the next room.

"What happened?" Kinch asked quietly.

"Matthews!" Hogan spat the name.

"Did you get permission to see Klink, sir?" Baker asked.

"No!" Hogan said. "And I've stopped asking! I want you down in the tunnel, clearing out the one that leads to the cooler."

"The way it collapsed, it'll take all night, Colonel," Newkirk said.

"Then you'd better get started on it now, hadn't you?" Hogan snapped.

"Uh, right, sir."

The men stood.

"Are you going to call London, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"What's the point? Every time I do, I get that idiot Wembley.(1) He thinks it's about time someone put me in my place. I need to talk to Klink; he might know someone we can talk to."

...

Wilhelm Klink, barely conscious, groaned as he fell against the bars and bit back the cry as the riding crop cut into his bare back once again.

"That's enough for now," Randall's voice penetrated the haze of pain.

"Aw, Colonel, I was just getting warmed up," complained Snyder.

"He's losing it," Matthews said. "It's no fun with him passing out all the time."

"We'll let him rest until morning," Randall said.

"I'll say this," chewed Yeager. "He's a tough old bird. Nary a peep out of him."

Matthews grinned. "Wonder what it'll take to get him to squawk."

Randall smiled. "You've got all night to think about it. Crowley, you and Yeager, cut him down and stick the jacket back on him. Then put him back, same position. Let him piss first, if he has to."

"Hell," Crowley drawled, "you'd think he'd already have done it in his pants."

"Like Virgil said, he's a tough old bird."

"Well," Snyder said, "I'm glad he didn't. I don't mind blood, but I don't like the other stuff."

The men laughed and left the cell.

Klink's bonds were cut, the ropes unwound from his bruised wrists. He slumped to the floor of the cell. Yeager held him as Crowley, heedless of his back, pushed the jacket on him.

"Hey, kraut." Crowley slapped his face to revive him. "You'd better piss now or hold it till morning."

Consciousness returned painfully. And awareness. The pain he was in colored the humiliation he felt as he used the slop bucket to the accompaniment of obscene remarks from the two men. When he finished, he was dragged to the back of the cell and pulled up. He cried out as his wrists were wrenched up and tied to the bars of the cell again. He slumped back to his knees with a groan. A gasp as Yeager ground a cigarette into his chest.

Laughing, the two men left the cell.

He was alone again. Alone with his pain, his fatigue, his hunger and his thirst.

Since that first night, he'd endured kicks and punches and slaps from Randall and the other men. Last night, they had used their belts; tonight, it had been his riding crop. Occasionally they used his body as an ashtray. He was continually tied in that painfully numbing position when they left him alone. He had not been given food since they locked him up. Barely given any water. Thus far, he had been able to control his bodily functions and had been released from time to time to use the slop bucket. Not from any sense of humanity on the part of his captors, but simply because they didn't want to dirty themselves as they were beating him. He'd lost track of time, scarcely knowing if it was night or day.

Not that he cared. His exhaustion was the worst he'd ever felt. Sometimes not even the pain was able to bring him out of the perpetual fog he was in. He had stopped feeling any emotion since that first night. Even fear seemed beyond him. Except for the horror that gripped him whenever Randall or his men alluded to some kind of sexual humiliation or abuse. And he knew he couldn't hide the fear he then felt.

Dear God, he felt the fear now. A shudder shook his body and a tear slipped down his cheek.

He caught himself. He couldn't afford to give in to the self-pity, or the horror, or the exhaustion. In his more coherent moments, he realized that it wasn't the ill treatment that was so debilitating. Instead, it was the culmination of the prior torture he'd endured and the strain of living three lives for so many years. If he had been stronger before Randall arrived, he would not be in such bad shape now. But his fatigue and Randall's indifferent treatment of him contributed to his weakness. Randall, unlike his past tormentors, wasn't interested in keeping him alive. Despite asking questions that Klink had no intention of answering, Randall really didn't care if he died. The questions and his failure to answer were merely an excuse for the abuse.

That numbing fatigue gripped him again, overriding everything including the pain. _Dear God, I'm so tired._

He couldn't fight it any more. His eyes closed and his head slumped as he gave in to the exhaustion.

...

Cautiously, Robert Hogan peered out of the hole in the cooler wall. No one seemed to be around. If Randall's pals kept to their usual schedule, he should have a few minutes before any of them showed up. It would be close but he didn't want to wait any longer to see Klink.

"You keep an eye open," Hogan said back into the tunnel. "Let me know if anyone shows up."

"Oui, mon colonel," LeBeau promised.

Hogan emerged from the tunnel and straightened up. A quick glance around. Nothing. Klink must be in one of the back cells.

Cautiously, he walked toward the back corner of the cooler. A glance back toward the front.

All quiet. He . . .

Hogan stopped in mid-stride, his heart pounding uncomfortably hard. That couldn't be. Randall wouldn't . . .

He ran to the back cell.

Klink was there, slumped on his knees, unable to sit or stand, tied by his wrists to a crossbar on the bars of the cell, his arms stretched uncomfortably high above his head. He looked as if he hadn't slept or washed since he'd been locked in here. And, to Hogan's surprise, Klink's shirt was gone.

Hogan walked into the cell. Klink's eyes opened as he heard Hogan approach. Surprise flickered in his bloodshot eyes. Hogan reached Klink and knelt beside him.

"What . . . ?" Klink tried speaking through cracked, bruised lips. And couldn't. Water, he mouthed.

Hogan looked around. In the far corner, he found a jug of liquid. The water in it was dirty but a quick glance showed nothing else around. Hogan retrieved the jug and held it to Klink's lips.

Klink choked on the first swallow and did a little better on the second.

"When did you last get water?" Hogan asked fiercely.

Klink shook his head tiredly. "Yesterday, the day before," he whispered. "I do not remember."

Hogan gave Klink more water, his hands shaking from the anger that swept over him. "That damn . . . " he began angrily. He looked at Klink more closely. This time, he noticed the bruises on Klink's abdomen. "They've been beating you," he said flatly. "And," he broke off, noticing some small burns on Klink's body as well. Cigarette burns. Rage blazed through him. "I'm getting you . . . "

His hands accidentally brushed Klink's back and, to Hogan's surprise, Klink shrunk away from him. Startled, Hogan carefully lifted the back of Klink's jacket. There were still bleeding welts on Klink's back from a thin rod of some kind.

Hogan shook from suppressed fury, his hands lifting to the rough rope securing Klink's bruised wrists to the bars.

"No!" Klink stopped him with a faint whisper as he heard a distant clanging.

"I'm getting you out of here!" Hogan said furiously.

"There isn't time!" Klink said hoarsely, painfully. "They'll be here any minute. If they catch you, don't think your rank or uniform will protect you. They'll kill you."

"I'm not leaving you here with them!"

"You have no choice," Klink gasped. "Go!"

"I . . . "

A loud noise from the front of the cooler, and LeBeau's frantic, "Colonel!" sounded.

"Go!" Klink repeated.

"All right!" Hogan whispered reluctantly. "But I'm coming back for you! Hold on a little longer."

Klink nodded wearily, his eyes closing.

After returning the water to where he'd found it, Hogan hurriedly left the cell and ran back to the tunnel.

...

Hogan threw the tin cup he held against the tunnel wall. It clattered noisily. "They're torturing him!"

His men couldn't remember him being this angry before.

"They're supposed to be the good guys and they're torturing him!"

"Nobody ever said Germans have a monopoly on sadists," Kinch said quietly.

"How could London put someone like Randall in charge?" Carter asked.

"Maybe they don't know," LeBeau suggested.

"Well, they will," Hogan said grimly. He looked at his men. "I'm not leaving Klink in their hands. They'll kill him to cover up what they've done."

"What do you have in mind, Colonel?" Baker asked.

Hogan hesitated. "I'm not sure I should tell you."

"What!" Newkirk was outraged. "You can't mean that, Colonel!"

"What I'm thinking of could get me into a lot of trouble."

"It doesn't matter, sir," Baker said. "Like you said, we can't leave him in their hands."

Hogan looked at each of them; they nodded agreement.

"Okay. I'm planning a mutiny. Round up Randall and his goons and take back the camp," Hogan said. "Most of them go into town every night. Including Randall, that leaves another five or six to take care of in the cooler. Since they won't expect it, we shouldn't have too much trouble with them. Then we round up the others as they come back."

Kinch nodded. "Should work."

"I hate to be a party pooper," Carter said slowly. "But what about the rest of the camp? I mean, while most of the camp doesn't like Randall and his group, they are officially in charge. Some of the camp might object to what we're planning."

"That's right, sir," Newkirk agreed. "Half of the men haven't been here more than a few months, and they don't know or believe what's been happenin' here. If they decide to side with Randall, there's gonna be fightin'."

"I know." Hogan thought a minute. "I've got an idea that might take care of that."

"What, sir?" Baker asked.

"It's crazy, but it should work. First, can we put a radio in each barracks or wire them for sound?"

"Maybe half of them, if that," Kinch said after a moment.

"Good enough. The guys can double up; we'll use the tunnels to move the men around. Can you do it by 2100 tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess so. We'll pull in everybody with radio and electrical experience."

"Do it," Hogan ordered. "At 2100, this camp is going to hear the tale of a lifetime."

* * *

1 "Monkey Business"


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the odd paragraphing, but I can't tab or indent the lines. So, this is the next best thing. I hope it's readable.

* * *

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 8

It was nearly nine o'clock. And the camp was unusually quiet, quieter than it had been since Randall and his men arrived. Nearly half of the barracks had a radio, and buildings that normally housed an overcrowded thirty or more men now held double that. For most of the newer prisoners, it was their first glimpse of the world that the long-time prisoners knew about — the tunnels, the radios, the secrecy. As one man put it, "Blimey, it's a ruddy Underground down there!"  
But not all the men were there. Randall's men, nine of the select fifteen had gone to town again, along with a dozen who'd been recruited from Barracks 79 such as Chaykin and Stinky. The rest were on duty or in their quarters, along with another twenty or so men from Barracks 79. As for Randall and his clique, they'd just disappeared into the cooler.  
In Barracks 2, Hogan sat at the table in the common room, a microphone in front of him. The other barracks had reported in; the men would have no trouble hearing him. Also waiting patiently in Barracks 2 were the officers of the camp — Captain Witton, Captain Martin, Captain Mitchell and Captain Warren, Lt. Miller and the other half dozen lieutenants — the men displaced by Randall's people, men who weren't too happy with many of the newcomers who had replaced them.  
Hogan sat quietly waiting for the moment. Only a close look would have revealed his tension; his knuckles were white as he gripped the microphone.  
Minutes earlier, a message had been sent to London; it didn't request an answer. It read: "Wilhelm Klink, former kommandant Stalag 13, tortured by Randall. Am relieving Randall of command. Responsibility mine as ranking senior POW officer. Will contact you after it is done." It was signed "Papa Bear".  
Now, the roughly twenty-five hundred former prisoners waited for Hogan to start.  
At 2100, Hogan began. "I'm going to tell you all a story," he said in a low voice, surprising most of the listening men.

A story? There were some groans among the listening men, especially the newcomers. Now what was Hogan up to?

"Once upon a time, in a land far away, a man with funny tastes in mustaches and uniforms became king."

After a moment, there were surprised chuckles as his listeners realized whom he meant.

"He was a ruthless, mad king, and he managed to attract a lot of people to his cause who were just as ruthless and just as mad. And because he attracted so many bad people, the good people were too scared to do anything but obey their mad king. Except for a very brave few. This is the story of one man who was very brave and maybe just a little crazy too. We'll call him 'Zorro'."

Grins flashed among many of the listening men as well as a few disbelieving looks.  
"Oh, brother," said one man who had not been there long.  
Others more acquainted with Hogan's often offbeat ideas shushed him.

"Who?" asked a Frenchman in another barracks.  
"Zorro," his American friend said. "Just listen. It'll make sense."

"Zorro?" Mitchell whispered to Witton.  
"Alias the Stage," Witton said softly, very softly. An idea started to grow in his mind, one he didn't want to believe.  
"Yeah, but why Zorro?"  
Witton shook his head, almost frightened by his thought.

"Zorro didn't like what was happening to his country under the mad king and decided to do something about it. He gathered together men and women who felt as he did and organized them into very efficient groups. Zorro and his people attacked military targets, blew up factories and bridges, and stole secrets from the mad king. The mad king's men tried everything they could to catch Zorro. But he was far too smart to be caught.  
"Eventually, people in other countries got together to fight the mad king. Sometimes, they didn't do so well and some of their men got caught. One of the captured men was called 'Roberto'."

There were a few laughs among his listeners as they realized whom he meant.  
"Who?" asked a bewildered man.  
His friend sighed and whispered in his ear.  
"Oh."

"When Roberto was caught by the mad king's soldiers, he was sent to a 'hacienda' in a quiet part of the mad king's country. There he was put in charge of other captured workers.  
"The hacienda was run by a man named 'Don Diego'. Don Diego was a high-ranking and generally well-meaning soldier for the mad king. Not too bright, he couldn't run the hacienda properly without Roberto's help."

There were laughs from some of the listeners as they identified the incompetent Don Diego.  
"Now that I get," said a Welshman.  
Some frowned as they remembered the story of Zorro and Don Diego. What on earth was Hogan getting at?  
Witton's expression grew more somber as he listened. Martin, across from him, looked equally sober. Miller who already knew the story turned away

"Roberto was a charming . . . "

Grins from the listeners.

" . . . intelligent man who had a crazy idea. He would use the hacienda to fight the mad king without anyone being aware of it. Especially the foolish man who thought he was in charge. Roberto and some of the other workers would sneak out of the hacienda, helping workers from other haciendas escape and causing all kinds of mischief. And Don Diego was Roberto's unwitting patsy, doing whatever Roberto wanted him to do."

"Oh, come on," Liebowitz said. "Is he still playin' that song?"  
"Shut your mouth!" roared Thom Mulchay.  
"It ain't true!"  
"It is, mate," said a nasally accented Australian. "Every word."  
"But it can't be!"

"Of course, Roberto had heard of Zorro and admired him tremendously. After all, Zorro was everything a hero should be — fearless, intelligent, always successful. But Roberto, like most people, had no idea who Zorro was.  
"For years, Roberto and his men went on causing trouble around the countryside, trouble that sometimes hurt the unwitting Don Diego. I'm not going to say much about that, except that Roberto wasn't real proud of some of the things he did. Later, there were other incidents which finally ended the contempt that Roberto had thought he felt for Don Diego."

"Wondered if he'd bring those up," murmured a listener.  
His friend nodded grimly.  
"What things?" complained a recent arrival to the camp.  
Hurried whispers told him what Hogan had skimmed over.  
"Hogan did that!" was the appalled whisper.  
Nods from the men around him.

"Not long after those incidents, Roberto received a message from Zorro; Zorro wanted to meet him. And Roberto was thrilled. Maybe he would finally discover who Zorro was.  
"But it wasn't to be. It had been a trap set by the authorities to catch both Roberto and Zorro. But Zorro knew better. He knew it was a trap and he sprung it, saving Roberto's life. In return for his trouble, Zorro was shot. That night, Roberto found himself having to remove a bullet from Zorro's shoulder without any painkillers."

There were grim looks among the men in the camp. One of them, holding a crippled arm that had been sliced by shrapnel, turned away with a shudder.

"Zorro reacted exactly as Roberto thought the larger than life hero would react; he bore his pain in silence. As Roberto worked on his shoulder, Zorro talked to him about what had been going on at the hacienda and about the shabby way Roberto had treated Don Diego in the past."

"He deserved it," said an unforgiving voice in a loud whisper.  
The man received disgusted looks from several of his neighbors who had long since revised their own unfavorable opinion of "Don Diego".

"But by then, Roberto had learned to be more understanding towards Don Diego."

"I guess understanding would be one word," murmured a sergeant to his friend.  
"Friendship might be another," whispered the corporal.  
"With a bloody kraut?" was the amused retort.

"Roberto went back to the hacienda and Zorro disappeared. And things went on pretty much as they had before. Except . . .  
"Except, Roberto was starting to notice things, things he had never bothered to see before. And he was remembering things — seemingly unimportant bits and pieces he'd just shrugged off in the past. One cold winter day, it all made awful sense." Hogan leaned forward, his expression intense. "You're bright boys," he said quietly. "I think you know who Roberto is, and Zorro, and Don Diego."

"Yeah," said a card in one of the other barracks. "You'd have to be 'Don Diego' not to."  
A few laughs agreed with the wit.

"If you do, then maybe you can appreciate the horror," Hogan's voice was deathly quiet, "Roberto felt when he realized that Zorro, the man he admired so tremendously, and Don Diego, the man he had once openly despised, were the same man."

There was stunned silence in the barracks from most of the listening men. Others nodded knowingly, Hogan's words confirming their own guesses.  
The card hid his face in his hands, shaking as he realized the truth.  
Witton sighed. He should have guessed — a thought reflected on the faces of the other captains.

"And maybe you can appreciate the terrible fear Roberto felt when he realized that Don Diego had been taken away by the authorities and no one knew where he was."

Astonishment turned to shock among the listeners.

Witton's eyes stayed on Hogan, seeing behind the control some of the still lingering fear.

"To make a long story short, Roberto couldn't leave Don Diego to his fate. So he and his men set out to find Don Diego and rescue him."

"So that's where they went," Warren whispered to Martin.  
Martin nodded grimly.

"With some help, they finally found Don Diego. Found him after he'd been tortured by the military for nearly three days. Found him and were caught.  
"But for Don Diego's courage, Roberto and his men almost suffered the same fate." Hogan had to suppress a shudder as he remembered what had happened. "Knowing that he was inviting even more brutal treatment, Don Diego intervened on their behalf and defied his captors. His reward was more pain, and Roberto and his men were forced to listen to his screams."

Horror succeeded horror on the faces of the listening men.

"Despite that, the rescue did ultimately succeed, and Don Diego was taken away from that hell-hole to a safe location where he was faced with an impossible choice. He could leave his war-torn country, recover from his pain and exhaustion, and for the first time in years live in peace. Or he could go back to the hacienda. Back to a life filled with fear and ridicule and hatred. He chose to go back."

"I couldn't," whispered an ashen man to his friend.  
"Me neither," his friend agreed shakily.

"I hope you all now appreciate the courage and strength of the man known as Don Diego."

There were nods of grim agreement from most of the listening men.

"There was peace at the hacienda for a short time. Then one of Zorro's men went to see him, begging him to start up again. The man who had known so little peace for years agreed, and soon the exploits of Zorro were heard throughout the land once again.  
"But there was also a change going on at the hacienda. The incompetent Don Diego was slowly being laid to rest. So skillfully was it done that few noticed the transformation of Don Diego from bungling incompetent to a man in complete control. Until one night during a disastrous fire when Don Diego and Zorro openly merged into one man."

There were knowing nods from those who had fought the Hammelburg fire. They had been surprised at what had happened and most found themselves, albeit reluctantly, admiring the Kommandant.

Hogan gripped the microphone harder. "I could go on for hours telling you of his activities. How he overcame more danger and pain. How he was given chance after chance to escape to safety. And how he rejected those chances, preferring to continue his work for the good of his country and the hacienda.  
"Then finally, after ensuring that the workers were safe from the war around them, Don Diego surrendered the hacienda to Roberto. And together they waited for those fighting the mad king to arrive.  
"Unfortunately for Don Diego," rare bitterness sounded in Hogan's voice, "the only difference between the monsters who'd tortured him in the past and the men who were put in charge of the hacienda was the color of their uniforms."

Startled looks on the faces of the listeners.

"I can't tell you the end of the story," Hogan said harshly, "because I don't know it. I'd like to say that it ends happily with Don Diego receiving the honors and praise he deserves. Instead, he has been starved, beaten and tortured by men who owed him so much!"

There were surprised looks on the faces of the listening men. Then angry murmurs sounded among the listeners.  
"So that's what has been going on in that cooler," muttered a Frenchman.

"So let's drop the fairy tale." Anger still sounded in Hogan's voice. "Even if Wilhelm Klink were the man everyone thought he was, you know that no man in this camp has ever been starved or abused. Klink's only crime has been wearing the wrong uniform. The Kommandant most of you knew doesn't deserve the treatment he's getting. The man I've just told you about deserves it even less.  
"And I will not let that abuse continue. So, I've decided to take a drastic step, one that some of you may not agree with. I'm going to relieve Randall of command. London has been informed, but we're not waiting for their approval."  
"What do want us to do, Colonel?" Witton asked quietly.  
A grim smile. "Nothing. This is our operation. All I'm asking is that nobody interfere."  
Witton looked at the men in the barracks and answered for them. "It's your show, Colonel."  
"What about the rest of you?" Hogan asked the listeners in the other barracks.  
Soon, there were messages of assent from every barracks.  
Hogan managed a faint smile. "Thanks. From both Roberto and Don Diego." He rose. "Let's go," he told his men grimly.


	9. Chapter 9

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 9

Wilhelm Klink was kneeling, facing the bars of his cell. His bleeding wrists were bound uncomfortably high above his head. He had been stripped to the waist, but despite the cool air, he was drenched with sweat. They had grown tired of beating him. Now, they were after new entertainment.

His wet forehead rested against his left arm as he waited. God, he was the weakest he'd ever been in his life. It was ironic that his first official contact with the Allies was with men who would have made Hochstetter proud.

Something struck his bare back, sending him falling into the bars. He almost cried out from the shock.

The thing struck again. It was different from yesterday when they had hit him with his riding crop. Whatever they were using now tore into his flesh and ripped his back.

It struck him again.

_Oh, God, the pain . . . _His white fingers wound around the bars of the cell, grasping it tightly.

The whip struck again. He could feel the blood flowing down his back as the whip snagged and caught his flesh.

_Why? What have I done? _

_Nothing_ was the bitter answer. These men were not immune to the insanity he had fought against for so many years.

His back was torn once more.

There was a sob in his throat now; his face pressed against the bars of the cell. He didn't know how much more he could take.

Yet another blow.

No food, little water. The abuse of the past few months and his fatigue had finally taken their toll. He had no reserves left to call upon.

The thing struck his back again. A cry was finally forced from him. Dimly, he heard laughter in the background.

Another fainter cry as the lash again struck his back.

His vision was failing. Sweat, tears, obscured his sight. The cell was growing dimmer; it was difficult to breathe. He barely felt the next blow.

_Was this what it felt like to die?_

_..._

Newkirk approached the private standing by the cooler fence.

"Nice night, eh?" Newkirk asked in a friendly voice.

"It's okay." The man sounded bored.

"Out here long?"

The man shrugged. "About an hour." Then, "Say, shouldn't you be in the barracks?"

Newkirk laughed with fake heartiness. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Huh?"

Newkirk leaned closer to him. "Say, what goes on in there? I mean, Randall and his pals go in a couple of times a day."

"Don't know. I guess they're questioning that kraut about everything he knows."

"That shouldn't take long; Klink's not too bright." Behind the guard, he could see Carter approaching. "Say, how's 'bout a cigarette, mate?"

The guard looked longingly at the one in Newkirk's hand. "I can't. Randall will kill me."

"Well, I won't tell him." Newkirk lit the cigarette and gave it to him.

Reluctantly, the man took it.

"Sure you don't know what's going on in there?"

The man snorted. "You don't know Randall, do you? Unless you're one of his pals, he says nothing."

"Well, mate," Newkirk said grimly. "That's good for you. Because from what we heard about that place, Colonel Hogan may just kill whoever's in there."

"Huh?"

Carter jammed a gun into his back. Astonishment crossed the guard's face.

"Now, mate," Newkirk said. "Let's take a little walk."

"You can't do this!" the guard objected.

"We just did."

Witton walked over to the men. "Everything all right?" he asked quietly.

"Just fine, Captain," Carter said.

"If you like, I can have a little chat with the private here," Witton offered.

Carter and Newkirk glanced at each other in surprise.

Finally, Carter asked, "Are you sure, sir?"

"Very."

"Well, sir," Newkirk said with a grin, "if you insist."

"I do. Now, private." Witton put his arm around the man's shoulders and led him away. "There are a couple of things you need to know . . . "

Carter glanced at his watch. "They should be there now."

"Right, Andrew. Let's go."

Together, guns drawn, the two headed for the cooler door.

Outside, men started coming out of the barracks and gathering around the cooler.

...

Hogan heard laughter as they emerged from the tunnel. Then a faint cry. More laughter sounded during the short walk to the rear of the cooler. A few more steps and they'd be there.

His blood froze as he came upon the scene. There were five men there, including Randall. They were drinking and laughing at the man kneeling before them. One of them, Yeager, took something from Randall and staggered toward the rear of the cell.

Beside Hogan, LeBeau gasped in horror. Klink, stripped to the waist, was on his knees, bound to the bars of the cell, his back bleeding and torn. He looked barely alive.

Yeager raised the thing in his hand; Hogan fired without thinking. The bullet nicked Yeager's side, drawing blood. Yeager cried out and dropped the lash. Randall and the others turned with astonished expressions toward Hogan and his three men.

Guns pointing unwaveringly at them, the men were prodded out of the cell none too kindly.

"Hogan!" Randall yelled, "I'll have your head for this!" as he was herded into an empty cell.

Hogan left them to his men; he cared only about getting to Klink.

Klink was slumped against the bars when Hogan reached him. Hogan cut the ropes binding Klink's wrists with a penknife. Then carefully, trying to avoid Klink's lacerated back, he turned Klink over in his arms.

"Wilhelm," Hogan said softly. The tearing blue eyes opened. Hogan grasped Klink's right hand in his own, willing strength into the tortured man.

Klink could barely feel the pressure of his hand. "Robert," he whispered.

There were tears in Hogan's eyes. "It's over, Wilhelm."

"Over . . . " Klink's gasping voice could barely be heard. "The end . . . you and . . . Thank . . . " His voice faded. "Tell . . . "

Klink's limp hand slipped from Hogan's grasp as his eyes closed.

"Wilhelm?" Hogan whispered. "No . . . NO!" His scream echoed through the cells.

Kinch hastily knelt beside the two men, his fingers reaching for a pulse on Klink's neck. "Colonel," he said urgently. "He's still alive, Colonel."

Hogan lifted his stricken face to the sergeant. Kinch smiled reassuringly at him.

Hogan found his voice; it was choked with tears. "Get a stretcher!" he ordered. "And call Doctor Bauer!"

Baker ran toward the stairs.

Hogan carefully relinquished his burden to Kinch and stood. Then he turned. Before LeBeau could stop him, assuming he could, Hogan was in the next cell, his hands around Randall's throat, squeezing.

Newkirk and Carter arrived, carrying a stretcher. Dropping it, they ran to Hogan, trying to pry his hands from Randall's neck.

Carter was openly crying. "Colonel, you can't!"

Kinch's voice shouted over theirs as Randall started gasping. "Robert! Stop it! He wouldn't like it!"

His name, the tone, startled Hogan enough so that Newkirk and Carter were able to loosen his hold. Hogan spun around furiously, his eyes staring daggers at Kinch who still held Klink.

"Colonel," Kinch said softly, "he wouldn't like it. He'd tell you Randall isn't worth your life. You know that. You know that," Kinch repeated quietly, his eyes boring into Hogan's.

The rage slowly faded from Hogan's eyes.

Carefully, Newkirk and Carter released his arms and stepped away from him. Still keeping their eyes on Hogan, they backed out of the cell and picked up the stretcher.

Hogan turned back to Randall.

Randall shrank away from Hogan, his hand at his discoloring throat. Hogan's eyes met his, and Randall shuddered at what he saw.

"You'd better pray he lives," Hogan said in a nearly inaudible voice. "Because if he dies, so do you."

Randall slumped to the floor of the cell.

Hogan went back to Kinch. Kinch handed the unconscious kommandant back to Hogan. Gently, Hogan, with Carter's help, laid Klink face down on the stretcher.

Kinch went over to the object that had fallen from Yeager's hand. He picked it up gingerly and walked over to Newkirk. Newkirk looked at it and shuddered. It was a thick piece of rope; twisted around it were strands of barbed wire stained with blood.

"Bloody bastards," Newkirk murmured.

Kinch nodded and dropped the thing to the floor. Then he walked over to the stretcher. Together, Kinch and Carter carefully lifted their burden and slowly started for the stairs.

Outside, Witton and the officers were waiting at the cooler entrance. Groups of men were standing in the open areas around the cooler. The searchlights that had been turned into the compound cast a harsh glare over the entire area.

LeBeau, white as a sheet, was the first one out of the cooler door, followed by a gloomy looking Newkirk. Then came Carter and Kinchloe, carrying their burden. Hogan walked behind them; in the stark light, grotesque stains were visible on his clothes.

The men nearest them moved back as the group approached.

"My God!" Samuelson swore.

Many of the men paled as they saw Klink's bloody back. Some gagged and hurried away; a couple became ill as they stood there.

The funeral-like procession walked to Klink's quarters, trailed by the shaken, silent men of the camp.

At the yard, Hogan turned to LeBeau. "Get Schultz and Gruber. Release the other guards also."

"Oui, mon colonel." LeBeau hurried off.

Baker waited in the doorway. "The doctor's on his way," Baker told Hogan as he walked up the stairs. "He wasn't going to come until I told him it was for the Kommandant." A pause. "If the rest of the town feels as he does, we're not the most popular folks in the area."

The group entered Klink's quarters.

The camp's officers, Samuelson and some of the barracks leaders assembled in the small yard in front of Klink's quarters, with Miller and Samuelson talking in hushed voices about what had happened in the tunnels just a couple of weeks before.

Private Ken Tiptoe turned to the dozen or so men standing behind him just outside the picket fence. "For the past few weeks, you've been offering prayers for an unnamed person. Tonight you learned his name. And he needs your prayers, our prayers, more than ever. So, let us pray . . . Lord, we stand before you, humbly asking that you save the life of Wilhelm Klink, a good man who has been grievously wronged. We ask that you touch his tortured body with your healing hand. Be with those who care for him. Give them the knowledge they need to help him. And give him the strength to survive the evil that has been done to him. In Christ's name, amen."

And around him, in a variety of accents, far more than a dozen men echoed his amen.

...

Hogan grimaced with disgust at the condition of the room. Klink's quarters had never been much to write home about, but they had been neat and clean. Now, dirt had accumulated, especially empty bottles from Klink's cellar. Some of furnishings had been damaged.

Hogan checked Klink's bedroom. It was a mess.

Baker returned from the guest room. "It's in decent shape," he reported.

Hogan nodded. "Okay, take him there."

He followed Kinch and Carter into the room. Gently, they laid the unconscious man face down on the bed.

Schultz and Gruber appeared at the door.

The big sergeant had aged in the past few days. He had been consumed with worry ever since Klink had been led away by Matthews. He turned white as he saw his Kommandant's bleeding body on the bed.

Gruber took a look and hastily backed out of the room.

Schultz continued to stare. Then he exploded in rage, lashing out verbally at the Allied soldiers standing there. Hogan and his men let him get it out of his system. Finally, Schultz stopped and sank into a chair, sobbing loudly.

LeBeau went over to him and awkwardly patted his shoulder.

Then, Hogan and his men quietly left the room.

Sergeant Wilson was waiting for them when they returned to the living room. "May I help, Colonel?"

"I don't . . . No. Better wait for Bauer," Hogan said shakily. "We might do more harm than good. He should be here soon. Thanks."

Wilson nodded.

Newkirk looked around the mess. "Bloody pigs," he spat. "Take a while to clean this mess up."

"Make them do it," Carter murmured.

"Schultz'll tear them to pieces," Kinch said soberly.

Hogan nodded. "Schultz can decide what to do in here." He looked at Gruber who was sitting, ashen and shaking, in a chair.

Gruber noticed Hogan's eyes on him and slowly stood. "Why did you let it go on so long?" the normally bland Captain asked in an outraged voice.

"I didn't know," Hogan said. "I didn't think Randall was a sadist."

Gruber studied his face for a long moment and then said quietly, "I hope you remember your answer, Colonel, when you ask the same question of a German."

Hogan looked at him but didn't say anything.

After a few minutes, a car pulled up outside.

Carter looked out the window. "It's Doctor Bauer," he said and went to open the door.

Bauer walked into the disorganized room. "Colonel," he greeted Hogan abruptly, "your man said Kommandant Klink requires medical attention."

Hogan nodded and led the doctor into the guest room; Wilson followed them. The doctor's face twisted with revulsion as he saw Klink's back.

"Do you need anything?" Hogan asked quietly.

Bauer shook his head. "I am certain that Sergeant Schultz and Sergeant Wilson will provide anything I need," he said tightly. His expression softened as he saw Hogan glance at Klink. He had forgotten about the unusual bond the two men had. "Please, leave. I will let you know how he is."

Hogan nodded at him and left the room.

"Now, gentlemen," Bauer said quietly, "we have work to do."

...

Hogan paced restlessly in the front room.

LeBeau came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with cups and a coffeepot on it, muttering angrily.

"What's wrong, Louis?" Newkirk asked.

"Those pigs!" LeBeau spat. "You should see what they did to that kitchen."

"I'd rather not," Newkirk said as he picked up a cup.

"Colonel?" Kinch carried over a cup of coffee.

Hogan shook his head and walked away.

His men exchanged worried looks.

"He wasn't kidding, you know," Carter whispered to Newkirk. "I think he will kill Randall if the Kommandant dies."

"I think you're right, Andrew," Newkirk agreed sadly. "Weird, isn't it? A few months ago, I don't think he would have cared."

Kinch shook his head. "You're wrong about that, Peter. He's cared about Klink for a long time; that cave-in proved it. He was just afraid of admitting it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Newkirk sighed. "Bloody strange war, isn't it?"

The others nodded in agreement.

After a while, the guest room door opened and closed quietly. Doctor Bauer walked into the room; Wilson followed.

Hogan stopped pacing and waited in the middle of the room. Bauer walked over to him and smiled faintly; Hogan visibly relaxed.

"The Kommandant will recover," the doctor said. "But Sergeant Schultz has told me briefly what has happened to him over the past months. To put it bluntly, Colonel Hogan, he is exhausted, mentally and physically. He needs rest, a great deal of it."

"He'll get it," Hogan vowed.

The doctor smiled faintly. "I believe you, Colonel. I have left instructions with Sergeants Schultz and Wilson for his care. He will sleep for a long time. If he wakes, give him liquids. Water, soup, if he will take it; he is dehydrated. I will be back tomorrow morning. If his condition changes for the worse, call me immediately. But I do not think that will happen."

Hogan walked him to the door. "Thank you for coming."

A thin smile. "You were told I did not want to?"

"Yes." Hogan accompanied him out on the porch. "I don't know what went on in town. But . . . "

The doctor's voice took on a hard edge. "They seem to think they owned the town. People have been beaten, robbed. There have even been rapes."

Hogan looked soberly at him. "I give you my word, they will be punished."

"Forgive me, Colonel Hogan, but my people are frightened. Even those who were in the resistance are wondering what it was they were fighting for."

"You can tell them there will be changes; I promise you."

Bauer looked at him. "All right, Colonel Hogan. I will tell them. Perhaps they will believe you. After all, you have helped us before."

They walked to the car. Witton and the other officers were within earshot.

"Colonel, I did not wish to alarm you or your men about the Kommandant's condition."

"He will be fine?" There was a touch of panic in Hogan's voice.

"Yes. But I do not wish to minimize his condition either," Bauer said. "As I said, Colonel, he is exhausted. The life he has been living has taken its toll. If that torture had continued, he may not have lived through the night."

Hogan suppressed a shudder.

Bauer sighed. "What made them think they could get away with it?"

"Easy," Hogan said harshly. "Shot while escaping. Simple and neat. No questions asked."

The doctor glanced at him. "Somehow, Colonel, I think there would have been questions. I think if the Kommandant had died, his death would not be the only unexplained one in this camp."

Hogan refused to meet his eyes.

Bauer nodded. "I understand. What has happened here is not my concern. Keep the Kommandant as comfortable as you can. Let him rest. I will be back in the morning to check on him."

"Thank you. Good night, doctor."

"Good night, Colonel."


	10. Chapter 10

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 10

Captain John Witton walked over as Hogan watched Bauer's car leave.

Slowly, the others in the area dispersed. Hogan knew that the rest of the camp would soon know what they had heard. He glanced at Witton.

The American in the RAF uniform looked at him soberly. "I'm glad he'll make it. We all are."

"I wonder if he'll forgive us," Hogan said pessimistically.

A small smile. "I think he'll forgive us long before you forgive yourself. It wasn't your fault, Colonel. It wasn't anybody's fault."

"I should have seen . . . "

"How?" Witton asked simply. "Randall didn't really act any differently than other men you've seen. Including me. Remember, you thought I was going to do something to him."

"Yeah," Hogan admitted. "I did."

"So don't blame yourself. None of us could have known what would happen."

"I wonder if he did," Hogan said softly. "The look in his eyes as he was led to the cooler. I wonder if he suspected. I didn't want to believe anything was wrong because they were Americans." An angry scowl. "That's why I let it go on so long. Because I couldn't believe it."

"Maybe it's what makes us civilized," Witton said. "We can't see anyone acting like that."

"It also makes us blind," Hogan retorted. "We don't want to believe it; therefore, it doesn't happen."

"Maybe." Witton looked at Hogan's set face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?"

"You, Klink. You've had it bottled up inside you for a long time. Sometimes talking helps."

Hogan looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "I do."

Witton smiled. "Let's take a walk."

Together, they walked to the open gate and the road outside the camp.

"So, who got here first?" Witton asked after a couple of minutes.

Hogan smiled faintly. "Schultz, then Klink, then me. The camp was still new at that point. Escapes were being made all the time, but the men were getting caught. Both sides were playing a game of cat and mouse. After I showed up, I took over. Got the prisoners more organized and more settled."

"And started your little undercover system."

"Yup. Got the whole camp involved and convinced them to go along. It wasn't easy; I was asking men to put aside their own feelings and help others go home."

"But you pulled it off," Witton reminded.

"Yeah, I did." Hogan smiled. "And, boy, it felt good to put one over on the dumb kraut who ran the camp."

"Only it turned out he was putting one over on you."

"Yeah, he was." A reluctant smile. "In fact, he had the final okay on our operation," he added to Witton's surprise. "Well, things went along pretty much as I told the rest of the camp. We got pretty good at what we did."

"And you and Klink?"

"For a long time, there was an unspoken truce between us. Most of the time, I protected him and he protected me. But for me, it wasn't anything personal. At least, that's what I wanted to think," he added softly. "He wasn't a person to me. He was just a tool. One I could get rid of when I wanted to; a few times, I almost did. I almost never thought of him as a man. And if I did, he was a man I despised. And a lot of the time, it showed. In the way I looked at him, talked to him and allowed the men in this camp to treat him.

"When did it change?" Witton asked quietly. "Or did it, really?"

A faint smile. "You're an observant man, Captain." Hogan leaned against one of the legs of a watchtower. "What it boiled down to was that I didn't want to think of Klink as anything other than a tool. If I did, I might have to take a good look at myself. And I might not like what I saw.

"And so it went on for years. Until Martinelli." He glanced at Witton. "You've heard about Martinelli?"

"Martin told me the story."

"Martinelli was crazy and none of us saw it. Not even Klink. Maybe if we had . . . " He shook his head. "Anyway, he wanted out. So, he picked on the one person he thought could get him out."

"Klink."

Hogan nodded. "When I walked into that room and saw Klink lying on the floor, beaten, hurt . . . I got scared. Scared because I'd never seen anything like that before. And scared because it was Klink."

"And you cared?"

Another nod. "That scared me even more. I didn't want to care. So, I shut it off as soon as I could. When Klink tried to get the gun away from Martinelli, I froze." His voice was tight, angry. "I should have helped him. We could have protected Martinelli. Between the two of us, we could have done something."

"Maybe. Or maybe not," Witton said quietly. "Don't harp on that. It can drive you nuts."

"I know." A sad sigh. "As Schultz said, Martinelli was already a dead man. If not then, probably later.

"So, I just stood there and watched, not really believing that Klink was trying to disarm him. Klink tripped over a log buried in the snow and Martinelli aimed the gun at him. Then the machine guns fired. I fell to the ground when they started and got up when it was over. Martinelli was dead. And Klink was there, kneeling in that snow, looking at him. Not with anger or hate, just a kind of sadness.

"And I," a deep breath, "turned on him. Every bit of hate and anger I could muster, I aimed at him." Hogan shook his head. "Here was a man who been beaten most of the night, half naked in a foot of snow." His voice was shaking now. "Cold, exhausted, bleeding. Not a stranger, but a man I'd known for years. That alone should have counted for something. And all I could do was blame him for something that wasn't his fault and hate him. I, uh, called him a bastard." A catch on the last word. "There was such disbelief in his eyes; he didn't expect that from me. Then even that disappeared, and there was nothing alive left in his eyes.

"He almost collapsed while I was looking at him. And you know what I would have done if he had? Nothing! I would have walked away and left him lying in the snow." His voice was bitterly reproachful.

"You don't mean that," Witton said softly.

"Oh, yes, I do. And for the three days he stayed in bed, I kept feeding my hate any way I could. Telling myself of all of the supposedly evil things he'd done, blaming him for every act of terror committed by the Nazis. He became the embodiment of everything I hated in Germany. It was the only way to stop what I really felt. And his first day back in the office, I wished him dead in front of the whole camp," he said bitterly.

Witton stayed silent, letting him work out the pain.

Finally, he spoke again in a more controlled voice. "I, uh, started dreaming. Nightmares. All about Klink. He'd be hurt and I'd hold him. Sometimes I would let him go and walk away. Other times, he'd just look at me with those empty eyes. Or he'd die while I was holding him." His voice was shaking. "And I'd wake up in a cold sweat. Sometimes I found myself crying. And that made me angrier."

"So you got even," Witton said softly. "By calling the Gestapo."

A subdued, "Yes. I was proving once and for all that he meant nothing to me. That I could do whatever I wanted with him."

"Didn't work, did it?"

A shaky, "No. The nightmares got worse. And the whole thing made Klink furious. I'd never seen him like that before. He would put up with my hate, but not that betrayal. He barely talked to me, barely looked at me, after that.

"But despite his anger and despite the dreams, I was still denying everything. Until it all came to a head in that cave-in."

"I've heard bits and pieces of it. What happened?"

A lopsided smile. "The top of the mine collapsed and they had to dig us out."

"Right," Witton said dryly. "Even I've heard a bit more than that."

Hogan pushed away from the tower, his eyes on the hill outside the camp. "When I came to, I was trapped in total darkness. When I was a kid, I accidentally locked myself in a refrigerator and nearly died.(1) The cave-in resurrected all the fear and I started to panic. Klink kept me from going nuts. Just by talking and never letting me think about what happened or where I was. And he never told me that he was hurt and nearly buried alive. After they dug me out, I ran out of there; I was so glad to be away from that darkness and dirt."

"Then you found out he was still trapped."

Hogan nodded. "I nearly ran out on him again. I mean, what difference did it make? Right before the cave-in, I was even thinking that he'd be gone soon the way the war was going."

"What changed your mind?"

"I realized how alone he was in there. After what he'd done for me, I couldn't leave without seeing how he was doing. I owed him that much human consideration. I'm not even sure I was thinking it was Klink when I said I'd go in."

A quiet, "But it was."

"Yeah, it was. Yet even when I saw him like that, I was still thinking he was expendable. Even when he was talking to me, I kept pretending it was just words. I kept denying that it was a man saying them. Until he was hurting too much to ignore.

"Somehow, I found myself gripping his hand. Or he was gripping mine. I almost let go. I didn't want to touch him. I didn't want to think of him as anything other than a tool. But he was in such pain. Just like the nightmares. And finally, I saw the man behind the uniform, the man I'd ignored all those years . . . And I held on to him, held on with everything I had, still afraid to admit the real reason.

"One of the beams slid . . . he screamed. The pain in his eyes, his face . . . And in the middle of that, he demanded to know what I was doing there. He knew what I thought about him. Why didn't I leave?"

"And why didn't you?" was the soft question.

"Because I finally stopped lying to myself, to him. I didn't hate him or despise him. Instead, he was a man, yeah, a foolish, naive and vain man, but still a man I'd been afraid to admit I cared for. A man I had needlessly, deliberately, hurt badly and hurt often.

"I made him a promise then. Whatever happened, we were going to see it through together. To the end. Him and me."

He turned away from Witton, resting his head against the leg of the tower, his eyes closed.

After a while, Witton said quietly, "But he still didn't tell you about himself."

Hogan pushed himself away from the tower and started walking again. "No. And I can't blame him.

"Later, after he saved my neck as the Stage, when I dug that bullet out of his shoulder, we were talking. I think he was still unsure about me. Yeah, I made him a promise in that cave. But did I mean it? Or was it just another line from the glib American?"

"Was he convinced?"

Hogan nodded. "That time, yes."

"But he still kept quiet?"

Hogan shrugged. "Things got too busy. Hochstetter was prowling around. The population of the camp mushroomed and the budget was cut. We suddenly had a lot of other things to worry about. We spoke to each other more than normal during the day, but it was always about camp business. And at night I was gone some of the time, and so was he, though I didn't know it. I found out later that he was planning something special for us."

"Instead, he was arrested."

"Yeah. I didn't catch on until it was too late. If I had . . . "

"If you had," Witton said, "he would still have been arrested."

"Maybe. Maybe we could have found him quicker. Maybe — "

"That's too many 'maybes', Colonel," Witton interrupted. "What happened, happened. Neither of you had any control over it. Just be glad you found him."

"I know. We found him. After three days, we found him," Hogan whispered. "It was worse than the nightmares. I can't begin to imagine the hell he went through. And when Hochstetter walked in on us and started on him while we watched . . . " His voice broke.

"It wasn't more than half an hour, but he couldn't stop screaming," Hogan finally whispered. "Even now, I can still hear him. Still see him." He shuddered.

Witton barely controlled his own shudder. "But you got him out of there."

A nod.

"And he came back here."

Again, Hogan nodded.

"Why?"

A very faint smile. "I'm not sure he knows. He said something about finishing what he started. Once he said something about satisfying his ego." A slightly bigger smile. "I called him on that. Asked him whose ego — the Stage's or the Kommandant's or Wilhelm Klink's."

"What did he say?"

"He never really answered. But it got through to him. I convinced him it was time to bury Kommandant Klink. Time for him to be the man he really is. That's when everything finally got out into the open between us. And we finally stopped playing games with each other."

"Took you long enough," Witton said dryly.

"Old habits die hard, Captain," Hogan admitted with a faint smile.

They walked on in silence for a while.

"Did things get better?" Witton asked as they rounded a corner of the camp.

"Yes and no," Hogan said. "Between us, yes, even before then. The camp saw it and most of the men accepted it because it did make life easier for everyone. No, because of the overcrowded conditions and the cuts in the budget. For the first time, we got a taste of life as it was in the other camps."

Witton smiled. "Then I dropped in. Literally."

Hogan returned his smile. "Yes. You really didn't guess who he was until tonight, did you?"

A wry smile. "No. I thought he was one of your people."

"No, we were one of his, though we didn't know it until this year."

"What happened last month when he left? The escape that didn't happen?" Witton asked.

Hogan shuddered. "SS major named Reiner. A murdering sadist. He was a friend of Hochstetter's. And Hochstetter was always talking about the two men he hated most — Klink and the Stage. Reiner, after quite a bit of research, put it together.

"Reiner," a shaky breath, "Reiner had a hobby. Finding men and women who were resistance fighters, criminals, military leaders. People who had evaded death or capture. He invited them to a hunt with them as the game."

"And he 'invited' the Stage."

Hogan nodded. "He had a unique way of sending the invitation. Poison. Exotic, deadly. With him holding the antidote. But that was just the beginning."

"Torture," Witton said bluntly.

A nod and a shudder. "He, uh, had his own personal torture chamber waiting for his victims. Every obscene horror he could think of, he would have done. Death would have been as slow, as ugly, as he could make it."

"Did Klink guess?"

"Not completely. He guessed enough so that he had no intention of being taken alive. When he left that night, it was as if he never expected to return. Even Gruber realized it."

"And it tore you to pieces," Witton said softly. "The whole camp saw it but didn't know why."

A shaky hand across his brow. "The nightmares were back. Worse. Much worse because of what had happened before. Even awake, I was having them. I could see him bleeding, hear him screaming. And that promise I made him — the words kept going around in my head." His voice broke.

After a while, he spoke again. "I, uh, never told anyone, but after he came back, I left the camp. I ran away and cried like a baby."

A sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

After a while, Hogan cleared his throat. "After that, things settled down. Well, almost. The Wagner incident, then learning about the death camps — it wasn't one of our better times. But he still made sure we'd be safe, made sure no one could force us to leave, by having the access roads destroyed. And he kept the guards together, kept them from panicking. I think almost everyone was relieved when he surrendered the camp.

"Then Randall shows up." The bitterness was back. "Tonight, when I went in and saw what they'd done to him . . . " There were tears in his voice. "All of the nightmares came true. I held him, just like in the dreams. Held him and watched him die . . . "

"He didn't," Witton said quietly.

There were tears on Hogan's face as he whispered, "I thought he did. Until Kinch said something, I was sure he did." He wiped the tears away awkwardly.

They walked in silence for a long time.

Finally, Hogan cleared his throat, his voice sounding almost normal. "That's about all of it," he said.

They were by the front gate again, near the Kommandant's quarters. Hogan watched as the men at the gate challenged every man who walked in. With surprise, he saw them lead away one of the men who had come in with Randall.

Witton smiled. "There's no sense in you being the only one in trouble. What's London going to do? Arrest all of us?"

Hogan managed a small smile. "They could."

A shrug. "We'll take the chance. You and your men have taken enough risks in the past. It's time the rest of us did more than watch."

A faint smile; Hogan's eyes stayed on the gate.

"With your permission, we'll lock them up in their barracks," Witton said. "You can decide what to do about them later."

A nod. Then the smile disappeared. "I shot Yeager," Hogan said.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. I'll get Wilson to see him; I'm sure he'll live."

Another nod. "You seem to have everything under control, Captain."

A grin. "I try."

His eyes met Witton's. "I'm beginning to think I should have told you earlier."

"I should have guessed earlier," Witton said soberly. "It might have made things easier for both of you."

"Well, it's over now. Maybe, it's finally over."

They were in front of Klink's quarters. Hogan turned into the yard; Witton wasn't surprised.

"Good night, Colonel," Witton said. "Try and get some sleep."

"Sleep," Hogan murmured.

"It wasn't your fault," Witton said persuasively.

"Maybe not this," Hogan said. "But . . . "

"Colonel, his back's not the only thing that needs to be healed. I think you need it too. The past is the past. Let it go."

"Let it go," Hogan murmured. "I'm not sure I can. Right now, I know I can't."

"Then give it time," Witton said. "But stop punishing yourself for what's happened."

Hogan nodded and walked toward the building.

Witton's eyes followed Hogan up the stairs. Then he sighed. No one could help Hogan with his burden. No one except the injured man who was lying in there.

* * *

1 M. Hughes: _Dress Rehearsal_


	11. Chapter 11

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 11

Followed by the officers and Tiptoe, Hogan's team finally returned to the barracks. Hammond silently poured them cups of coffee as they sat down at the table.

"Gawd, I hope I never see anything like that again," Newkirk murmured after a long silence.

"It was even worse than when we found him with Hochstetter," Carter said shakily. "And that was horrible."

"What he'd look like then?" Martin asked hesitantly.

It was awhile before Newkirk said softly, "Like a scene out of hell."

"And the smell," LeBeau said shakily. "At least this time, there wasn't that smell."

The others looked puzzled.

"Well, you know the Kommandant," Newkirk said diffidently. "Lived up to his German blood in that respect. Always impeccably groomed, always clean." The others nodded. Newkirk's voice dropped. "He was filthy. He'd been chained to the wall by his wrist in a dirty cell, a bucket for a toilet. He later told the Colonel that after the first day, he, uh, couldn't keep any food down. The cell stank worse than any latrine ever did from vomit and, uh, other things."

"He'd been beaten, kicked," LeBeau murmured. "His body was a mass of bruises; his right wrist was bleeding, infected." He shuddered. "And his eyes . . . I'll never forget the pain in his eyes."

"What made you leave?" Warren asked curiously. "Did you know who he was?"

"Colonel Hogan finally guessed," Kinch said. "The cave-in, the Stage getting hurt, Hochstetter's threats against Klink, their friendship — it all got to him. I guess subconsciously he started to connect it all. Then, like he said, the day we left, it all made horrible sense."

"We didn't believe it," Baker said. "Pretty much told him he was crazy."

"Until Schultz came in, looking for the Kommandant," Kinch said. "It scared Schultz when the Colonel said that Klink had left with Hochstetter the day before. Schultz knew that Hochstetter was just looking for an excuse to arrest Klink. And when Schultz learned that Hochstetter had arrested one of the few people who knew who the Kommandant was, that's when he told us who Klink was."

"We still didn't want to believe it," Baker said. "It was too horrible to believe. After everything we've thought about Klink, said to him, done to him, to realize who he was . . . " Baker shook his head.

"But it was true," Newkirk whispered uncharacteristically. "All of it. Though I don't think I really believed it until we walked into that cell and saw what Hochstetter had done to him." A shudder. "And it would have happened to us if Klink hadn't interfered."

"It drove Hochstetter crazy," LeBeau murmured. "He . . . He hit Klink, kicked him. Then Hochstetter put him on that rack and," a gulp, "tortured him as we watched."

"He lost control of everything . . . He couldn't stop screaming," Carter mumbled. "He tried not to scream; you could see him trying. But he couldn't stop . . . " A long pause. "I wanted to cry. I was so scared and ashamed."

"For him?" Tiptoe asked softly.

A miserable nod. Then, "But he had nothing to be ashamed of," Carter said with sudden fierceness. "Nothing! What he went through for days, none of us could have stood. None of us!"

"And after all that, he comes back here," Kinch said softly after a long pause. "He could have left. That's what Schultz wanted, and his brother-in-law."

"Brother-in-law?" from Mitchell.

"Yeah. Remember Doctor Müller, that Wehrmacht captain last year?" Some of the men nodded. "He was in the area. LeBeau and Newkirk contacted the underground for a doctor after we rescued Klink and were sent to Müller."

"Must have shaken him up a bit," Martin said.

A nod. "It did, but he wasn't surprised about who the Kommandant was. I guess something happened on his visit that let him guess what the Kommandant was up to. But he was shook when he found out what had happened to the Kommandant." A shudder. "We were all shook." A deep breath. "We knew what the Gestapo was capable of doing; we'd heard what they'd done to others. Hell, we even joked about it. But to see it . . . to hear it." He shuddered. "And I walked in on the tail end of it."

"But you stopped it," LeBeau said. "You and Schultz."

"Schultz?" Surprised cries from the others.

"Yeah, Schultz," Kinch said. His eyes lifted to their faces. "He's the one who killed Hochstetter," he said softly. "Killed him as he was torturing the Kommandant. For years, he's been taking care of the Kommandant. Good old Schultz. A fat bowl of jelly we thought. And all along, he knew." His head shook with admiration. "He knew everything."

"What about Gruber?" Martin asked. "Was he in on it?"

"Only since the hunt," Baker said. "He became suspicious after the fire, but when the Kommandant called him on it, he couldn't bring himself to turn Klink in."

"Hunt? What hunt?" Mitchell asked.

"An SS guy, Reiner," Baker said. "Reiner wanted to hunt Klink like he was an animal. Gruber, he walked into the office with the rest of us and learned that Reiner had poisoned," startled looks on the listeners' faces, "the Kommandant. Hogan told him what had happened and Gruber was with us when the Kommandant said goodbye." A pause. "I didn't think he'd come back alive. None of us did."

"Including Hogan," Mitchell said. He looked at the other men in the barracks. "It must have been rough on the rest of you not knowing what was going on."

The men nodded.

"By then," Hammond said soberly, "we all knew that the Colonel and the Kommandant were friends. But we didn't know about the hunt. We thought that Klink had been called away for questioning or something, and that's what was wrong. But," he looked at the five men, "Klink was dying when he left here?"

The team nodded as Witton came in.

"He would have died too," Carter whispered. "But he managed to pull off one more miracle. He," a shudder, "told us the story after he came back. Gruber was with us. That's when he learned who the Kommandant was."

"And he swore loyalty to the Kommandant," Martin guessed, remembering how Gruber had been after that incident.

They nodded.

"Then Randall shows up." LeBeau spat the words. "That filthy bastard! Shows up and tortured him like Hochstetter did; like Reiner would have!" Then, in a subdued voice, "I thought I was going to faint."

"You weren't the only one," Baker agreed with a shudder. He looked at Kinch. "Back in the cooler, I thought the Kommandant had died. What made you think he hadn't?"

A very faint smile. "I didn't. I was praying I'd find a pulse."

"So was I," murmured LeBeau. A sigh and a shake of the head. "And just a few months ago, I wouldn't have cared if he died. I even joked about it," he admitted with some shame. "And now?" Another shake of his head.

"I always kind of liked him," Carter admitted slowly, getting stares from the others. "I did! I know he was supposed to be dumb, but it was a nice kind of dumb. Sort of," he finished lamely.

Kinch laughed. "I think I know what you mean. I guess we always exaggerated how stupid he was. And how we couldn't stand him."

Witton smiled. "True confessions?"

"As long as we're being honest," Newkirk said slowly. "If anything, I under-exaggerated how I felt about him."

"You really hated him, didn't you?" Tiptoe said quietly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I did. If I saw him then like he was tonight, I'd have laughed in his face."

"Why?" Tiptoe asked softly.

"Because . . . Because my kid brother was killed by the Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain," Newkirk finally said. "And every time I saw Klink, every time I saw the uniform, that's what I remembered. That's why I couldn't accept how the Colonel felt about him."

"You were pretty vehement," Kinch said, "when they started getting along better."

"Yeah. I acted like a bloody idiot."

"We all did," LeBeau said. "Not just you."

"But he doesn't hold it against us," Carter said. "He never has. And sometimes we really treated him rotten. Especially when we were pretending to be Germans." A low, "I even hit him once.(1)"

"Yeah," Kinch said. "We did go way overboard sometimes." Then, "You know, sometimes I'd see something in his eyes," Kinch said thoughtfully. "Looking back on it, I think sometimes he was laughing at us."

"Well, we were laughing at him," Baker said. "It wouldn't surprise me if he did laugh at us once in awhile." A sudden grin. "Remember that time we made the record of that secret meeting? When he walked in and found us with Schultz?"(2)

"Yeah," from Carter. "Boy, was I sweating!"

"You?" Newkirk managed a smile. "I was the one with the nonexistent impresario uncle."

"He did have us going for a few minutes," Baker said. "

"Do you mind telling the rest of us the story?" Witton asked dryly.

Baker grinned. "It was last year when the krauts let us use a recording device to send messages home. Remember?" Some of the men nodded. "Then they decided to have a top secret meeting in the rec hall. So, Hogan came up with the idea of having us record the meeting. But we needed to get into the building first. So, the colonel conned Schultz into thinking that we thought he had a great voice and we were going to send a recording of him to Newkirk's impresario uncle."

"And Schultz fell for it?" Martin said. And looked confused when the others laughed. Then he laughed. "Or pretended to fall for it."

Baker grinned. "Guess so. Anyway, Schultz took us inside the building. Then Klink showed up."

Newkirk laughed shortly. "And started going on about how he didn't believe us. Gawd, he had me sweating, I don't mind telling you."

"He had us all sweating," Baker said. "Including Colonel Hogan." He smiled. "Then, to our relief, Klink told us he wanted us to record him and his string quartet. So, the colonel and I went to Klink's office with an empty box, pretending to record the music. In the meantime, the machine was really recording the meeting. Given what we know about him, Klink had to know what we were up to."

"And he decided to pull your legs a bit for a change," Mitchell said with a grin.

Witton also smiled. "Sounds like you guys had some interesting times. And, in hindsight, some funny times as well."

"Yeah, I guess we did," Newkirk admitted reluctantly. Then a heartfelt, "But it's over, thank God."

"Yes, over. Well," Witton said, "I've got a couple of errands to run. Ed," he addressed Martin, "I'd like you to come as well."

"Right."

"Good night, men."

Goodnights echoed after the two officers.

* * *

1 "Lady Chitterley's Lover"

2 "The Big Record"


	12. Chapter 12

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 12

Doctor Ernst Bauer stopped his car in front of Bürgermeister Scheinfeld's house. The family of Kurt Hausner also lived here, as they had since the fire. Bauer got out of the car, walked to the door and rang the bell.

After a few minutes, Scheinfeld, clad in a voluminous red robe, opened the door. "Ernst! What are you doing here? It is long past curfew."

Bauer smiled as he walked into the hall. "I am a doctor, am I not? Doctors have no curfew. Get Kurt, bitte. I must talk to both of you."

"All right. Wait in the library."

Scheinfeld left as Bauer walked into the book-lined room and waited.

"Ernst," Hausner, belting a dark green robe around his waist, greeted a few minutes later. "Was ist los?"

A very faint smile. "Now, nothing."

The two men looked puzzled as they sat.

"I have just left Stalag 13," Bauer said.

Distaste crossed the faces of the two men.

"So, one of the drunks needed medical attention," Hausner said sarcastically.

Bauer shook his head. "Nein. For that, I would have refused to go. The patient was Kommandant Klink." He looked at the startled men. "He has been tortured by Randall."

Scheinfeld rose to his feet. "Was!"

"He could have died."

"And that Schweinehund," Hausner spat, "called you!"

"Nein." Bauer's eyes met theirs. "One of Colonel Hogan's men called me. Colonel Hogan has taken back the camp. Hogan learned what happened to the Kommandant, rescued him and arrested Randall."

"So, it is over," Hausner said with a heavy sigh.

Bauer nodded. "Colonel Hogan was unaware of what has taken place here. I have told him briefly of the outrages committed against us. He gave me his word that the guilty will be punished."

"Will he keep it?" Hausner asked.

Bauer nodded. "I believe so. He has given us no cause to doubt him. And after what has happened to the Kommandant, he wants justice done."

"Will his superiors?" Scheinfeld asked. "They may not approve."

"I suspect," Bauer said slowly, "that Colonel Hogan and Kommandant Klink have a great deal more influence than anyone suspected."

The two men looked at him in surprise.

"Since the surrender," Hausner said finally, "stories have been circulating about Colonel Hogan's activities in the resistance. Stories with a great deal of truth to them. And we know that the Kommandant and he have become friendly. But the Kommandant . . . ?"

"However," Bauer said soberly, "since the fire, we have discovered there is more to the Kommandant than we ever dreamed. And now . . . " Bauer broke off.

Hausner's eyes narrowed. "Now?"

Bauer shook his head. "I have said all I am going to say. Except for one thing." He looked closely at them. "Do not be surprised by anything the Kommandant does in the future."

Scheinfeld looked at him and nodded. "All right, Ernst. I suppose we will hear about it eventually. But," a smile, "at least that Hund Randall and his men are gone."

"Ja," Bauer agreed. "And for that, we can thank Colonel Hogan. And Kommandant Klink."

...

Captain John Witton, accompanied by Captain Edward Martin, Sergeant Frank Wilson, and a dozen volunteers entered the cooler. The men walked to the back cells.

"Finally!" Randall's tone was derisive. "Let us out of here, Witton!"

Witton shook his head. "Forget it, Randall."

"That was an order, Captain!" Randall shouted. "From a superior officer."

Witton looked at him with contempt. "You've forfeited the right to give orders, Randall."

Randall laughed harshly. "Why? Because of Klink? He's nothing but a," an obscenity, "kraut."

Witton barely held on to his temper. "I'm afraid, Randall, you picked the wrong 'kraut' to torture and the wrong place to do it."

"Oh, yeah, this perfect little camp," Randall said. "Collaborated with the enemy! Every stinking one of you! Wait until the brass hears about this!"

"No," Witton said evenly. "Not collaborated. And as for the brass hearing about this, they already know."

There was apprehension on Randall's face for the first time. "What do you mean they already know?"

"Colonel Hogan contacted them when he decided to throw you out."

"That's ridiculous! Hogan was nowhere near my radio."

"He didn't use your radio," Witton said dryly. "He used his."

A guarded look on Randall's face. "His?"

"Yes, his. The radio he's been using to contact London for the past three years. You see, Randall, London forgot to tell you a few things about this camp. One of the things they forgot to mention was that every prisoner in this camp had orders never to escape. And the reason is that Hogan and his men have operated a band of saboteurs from inside the camp for years."

"You're nuts!"

"Afraid not, Randall." Witton's eyes met Randall's. "You blew it. You really blew it."

"The next thing you'll say is that bastard Klink knew all about it!"

"He knew all right," Witton said lazily. "From what I understand, he had the final okay on the operation."

"What do you mean okay?" Randall said uneasily.

"Just what I said, Randall — okay. As in whether he'd permit another Underground cell to operate out of his camp." Witton's voice was disinterested now. "We're putting you guys in separate cells. I warn you, don't try anything. These men have seen what you did to Klink and they're not too happy. I suggest you behave yourselves."

"Hogan shot me!" Yeager whined. "It hurts!"

"Too bad. But since we're softhearted, Sergeant Wilson's going to look at you. But try anything, and you can forget it."

"I won't!" Yeager promised.

"Captain," Witton told Martin, "take over."

"Yes, sir," Martin said as Witton walked toward the empty cell in the back. "All right, you guys. One by one. Randall, you get to keep your cell."

Witton wasn't listening as he looked at the back cell. There was blood on the floor by the back bars. The stained ropes that had been around Klink's wrists still hung from the bars. There on the floor, he shuddered, was the bloodied rope with the barbed wire around it. Klink's jacket had been thrown in a corner. Witton walked over and retrieved it. The jacket was dirty, smelled and smeared with blood. Was it even worth keeping? Yeah, it was evidence, he reminded himself.

Witton walked out of the cell, carrying the jacket. There, on a small table, were Klink's effects. He dropped the monocle, watch and the few odds and ends from Klink's pockets into the cap. Klink's riding crop. Witton smiled. The Kommandant was rarely without it; Witton wondered why. He picked it up and nearly dropped it. It had dried blood on it.

Why? He found himself thinking. Why? Even when he'd thought he hated not just Klink but all Germans, he couldn't have imagined torturing them. Baines had tried to kill Klink, yes. But Baines had been a sick man, a man pushed over the edge by too many missions and the death of his family. But Randall? And the other men? They were normal. All too normal. Witton shuddered. That's what shook him the most. How normal Randall and the others were.

Witton, reluctantly, took the riding crop and walked toward the front.

All of the men had been put into separate cells, cells unlike the one Klink had been in. These cells had cots, blankets and water.

Wilson had finished bandaging Yeager's side.

"It hurts!" Yeager was whining.

"Sorry." The medic's tone belied his words. "I'll be back in the morning to change the bandage."

"What about the pain?"

"I've got some aspirin, if you want it." He handed Yeager a couple of tablets. "That's it."

"I want a doctor!"

"We'll think about it," Martin said coldly. "Tomorrow."

Wilson left the cell; the door clanged shut behind him.

"What about some food?" Matthews shouted after the departing men.

"Breakfast is tomorrow at 8:30," Martin said, already up the stairs.

The men, ignoring the outraged noises behind them, left the cooler. Two men were posted outside as guards.

The officers and Wilson walked toward the front gate. As they approached, they saw more men being stopped and ordered to their barracks.

"How many do we have?" Witton asked Mitchell who'd been supervising the proceedings.

"Most of them. Maybe another two or three left."

Witton nodded and turned to Sergeant Wilson. "How badly is Yeager hurt?"

Wilson snorted. "Not as badly as he wants us to believe. He'll be uncomfortable for a while; the aspirin should help."

"Thanks, Sergeant. Good night."

"Good night, sirs," Wilson said, and walked toward the infirmary.

Witton and Martin turned toward the Kommandant's quarters.

...

"What a mess," Martin said as they entered the living room.

Witton nodded and put Klink's things on the dining table as Schultz came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a coffeepot on it.

"Is Colonel Hogan with him?" Witton asked.

Schultz nodded.

"We, uh," Witton was uncomfortable, "brought over the Kommandant's things."

Another nod from Schultz.

"They sure made a mess," Martin said.

"Tomorrow," Schultz's voice was heavy, "I will have some of the men clean in here. If no one objects."

The two men shook their heads.

"Schultz," Witton said soberly, "I'm sorry. We're all sorry."

Schultz was silent for a while and then lifted his head to look at the two men. "I am sorry too. What happened was not your fault, not Colonel Hogan's fault. It is only the fault of that Schweinehund. HE blames no one else; neither will I."

"He's a remarkable man, Schultz," Witton said softly. "Tonight, we found out how remarkable."

Schultz blinked suddenly and then slowly, very slowly, smiled. "You know?"

"We all know, Schultz," Martin said.

"You all . . . He will be very angry with Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, not at all unhappy about the news.

Witton smiled faintly. "What will he do?"

"The Kommandant will tell Colonel Hogan exactly what he thinks of the Colonel for saying anything," Schultz said in his normal Schultz voice. "And Colonel Hogan will ignore him."

The two men smiled.

"It is good for the Kommandant to be ignored once in a while," Schultz continued.

The men laughed.

"You know them well, don't you, Schultz?" Witton said.

A sigh. "I do now. But for a long time," Schultz shook his head sadly, "for a long time, no.

"But," Schultz said briskly, "that is in the past. Now they are friends. And now," a sadness crossed his face, "the Kommandant is safe. Not well. But safe."

"He'll get well, Schultz," Witton said. "We'll make certain he does."

Schultz nodded. Again the faint smile. "He will be very angry."

The two men smiled at him and left him alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 13

London:

The radio operator winced as he finished transcribing the message. Silently, he handed it to the night commander, Colonel Alistair Wembley.

Wembley looked at the message. And looked again. "You've made a mistake, Lt. Keyes"

"No, sir," Keyes said evenly. "No mistake."

"But this says . . . No, this must be a mistake. Or Hogan's planning something. Get them back, Keyes."

Suppressing a sigh, Keyes turned back to the radio. "Goldilocks calling Papa Bear. Goldilocks calling . . . " There was only silence in response to his calls. "Nothing, sir."

"Damn Hogan and his tricks!"

"Tricks, sir?"

"Of course, tricks. Hogan's been complaining about Randall since he got there. This is just an excuse to — "

"Sir," Keyes cut in, "we need to route the message upstairs."

"Balderdash! General Forbes can't be bothered with — "

"Sir," Keyes said again, managing not to scowl. "My orders are to route all nonroutine messages to General Forbes. Are you asking me to ignore my orders? Sir?"

"What?" Wembley turned red. "Of course, I'm not — "

"If this is, as you say, balderdash, sir, General Forbes will deal firmly with Hogan."

"Never thought of that. Of course. Too bad for Hogan to get into trouble. But it would teach him a lesson."

There was only one response Keyes could make and he made it. "Yes, sir."

Wembley glanced at the clock. "Of course, it's too late now. Better wait until morning."

"Sir, General Forbes is in his office," said the long-suffering Keyes.

"He is? Oh, well . . . "

"Would you like me to deliver the message, sir?"

"No, I'll do it. And inform General Forbes of what's been going on."

"Yes, sir." _And maybe he'll hand you your head afterwards_, Keyes thought as Wembley left. He glanced at the copy of the message. This time, he shuddered.

...

"I'm sure Hogan is exaggerating, as usual, sir," Wembley told General Forbes as he read the message.

Forbes looked at him. "Exaggerating? How do you exaggerate an accusation of torture?"

"Sir, I am certain that Colonel Randall is an exemplary officer. As such, the first thing he would do is what I would do — put the former commandant in the cooler. Well, from what I've been hearing, sir, Hogan seems to have become rather friendly with Klink."

"And you think Hogan would object to Randall locking Klink up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Colonel, there is a vast difference between putting Klink in the cooler and torturing him."

"Well, ordinarily, yes, sir. But with Hogan — "

"I find your animosity toward Hogan rather interesting, Colonel," Forbes said dryly. "Perhaps we should talk about it. But not now," he added to Wembley's relief. "Dismissed, Colonel."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Uh, sir, you don't really believe that Hogan meant torture as in . . . torture?"

"Unlike you, Colonel, I have no reason to think that Hogan meant anything other than what he said. Good night, Colonel."

"Good night, sir." Wembley saluted and turned on his heel.

Forbes shook his head as the door closed behind Wembley. "Wonder what got him so mad at Hogan?" he muttered. "But this . . . "

He read the message again. Frowning, he picked up his telephone. "Lt. Cottrell, do you know where General Gaines is? . . . France? . . . That's right. He went with General Edmondson to see Ike; I'd forgotten. Ring him there, please . . . Yes, it's urgent . . . All right. Keep trying. Call me back as soon as you've found him."

After an hour, his telephone rang. "General? . . . Oh." Forbes glanced at the clock. "All right. It's a done deal now anyway . . . What? . . . No. Just leave a message that I need to talk to him first thing in the morning."

Forbes hung up the telephone slowly, and glanced at the message again. This time, he suppressed a shiver.

...

Reims, France: Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF):

At 0800, General Forbes reached General J.J. Gaines at breakfast and read him the message.

Gaines stifled a curse. "I'll get back to you later, Forbes."

After apologizing to the other officers with him, Gaines left the table. He didn't have far to go. General Edmondson was giving a breakfast briefing upstairs in a private room. But it was a briefing Gaines was loath to interrupt. It was common knowledge that the Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces was wound tighter than a spring lately, and nobody wanted to incur his justly famous temper.(1) Nonetheless, Gaines's standing orders were to notify Edmondson immediately if there was something wrong at Stalag 13, and this was about as wrong as it could get.

Gaines knocked on the door and entered. Edmondson was there, along with a very familiar figure. And neither man looked happy at the interruption.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Gaines said somewhat nervously. He gave Edmondson the brief message from Stalag 13. To his surprise, Edmondson paled at the news.

The ten stars on his collars glistened in the harsh morning light as the SHAEF commander asked Gaines a bit tetchily to explain what was going on.

Gaines glanced at Edmondson who remained silent. "Stalag Luft 13, a small POW camp east of Düsseldorf, sir. It surrendered, along with the nearest town, to the senior officer, a Colonel Robert Hogan."

"A POW camp inside Germany?"

Gaines nodded.

"And it just surrendered? That's highly unusual."

"It's an unusual camp, sir," Gaines said, shooting another glance at Edmondson. "Hogan's been operating an escape service and sabotage group for some years with the help of many of the residents of the town. Thanks to some recent bombing runs, the area is now cut off from the war, which is probably why they surrendered. Since Hogan was a flyer with little staff experience, we sent in an administrator."

"This Randall?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sounds like you made a mistake."

"I made the mistake," Edmondson said softly.

"You, Ted? Explain."

"A few hours before Randall was due to leave, I'd heard he was being investigated by CI. And I decided to let him go anyway. Partly because there wasn't any proof and partly because it was too late to get a replacement." Edmondson smiled grimly. "A calculated risk."

"Well, it's too bad Randall is a bad apple. But it's easily rectified. What I don't understand is why someone with your rank in Intelligence is interested in a POW camp, even one so unusual."

"Because of who he is."

"Hogan?"

"No, sir. The man Randall tortured," Edmondson said evenly. "He's the Stage."

Gaines stared at Edmondson as the SHAEF commander scowled. "The Stage? There's no mistake?"

"No, sir. The commandant of that camp is the Stage." A twisted smile. "It was a perfect cover. Until now."

Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces, looked at Edmondson for a long moment before saying evenly, "Send a message, General Edmondson, approving the action. Use my name."

"Yes, sir."

"Then get back here and finish this blasted briefing!"

Gaines and Edmondson saluted and left.

In the hall, Gaines turned to Edmondson. "You owe me an explanation, Ted."

Edmondson nodded. "I know, Jay. Meet me for lunch at one. I should be finished with Ike by then."

"All right."

"See you later."

Gaines nodded and left.

Edmondson looked around for his aide. Not seeing him, Edmondson went down to the dining room. His aide was there with several other officers. Edmondson pulled him away and explained what had happened.

Mason kept silent, but Edmondson could see the quiet reproof in his eyes. "I know; I fouled up. I need you to send a message to Stalag 13."

"Yes, sir. What message?"

Edmondson told him.

"Yes, sir!" was Mason's enthusiastic response.

"Mason, no one else is to know where the order came from."

"Not even General Forbes?"

"Not yet."

"General, what do you think will happen?"

A sigh. "Well, Randall's finally going to get what he deserves."

"You did say they could handle him, sir."

A pessimistic, "Yes. But what a price. I didn't know, didn't think, Randall would go that far. And as for Hogan and Klink," Edmondson shook his head, "I'm not sure. But don't be too surprised at anything that happens from now on."

* * *

1 During this time frame, Eisenhower was under tremendous physical and mental strain, bordering on exhaustion. A well-earned vacation near the end of March did much to improve his health and disposition.


	14. Chapter 14

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 14

It was the dead of night. Colonel Robert Hogan sat slumped in a chair, dozing uneasily. Kommandant Wilhelm Klink lay face down on the bed, his back lightly bandaged.

_Kraut!_

_His head jerked toward the speaker. Something slammed into his stomach, doubling him over with a groan . . . _

_Klink! I can see you!_

_He ran blindly. The pain, the sweat, obscuring his vision. A cry as he stumbled and fell, something cutting into his ankle._

_Panic clouded his mind as he desperately tried to free himself. Then HE was there. The rifle aimed._

_NO!!_

_Pictures. They fell out of a drawer. _

_He picked one up. He nearly screamed. The bleeding mutilated thing that stared at him with those hopeless eyes couldn't have been human. But it was. _

_He couldn't stop it. Vomit spewed onto the desk . . ._

_His entire body was trembling as he walked down the steep stone stairs. The stench gagged him. Halfway down, his hand found a light switch. Shaking, he flicked it on. _

_Horror and fear lit his eyes. Oh God!_

_He was sick on the stairs, scarcely aware of his retching, his mind still reeling, trying to cope with the horror . . . _

_Kraut! _

_Klink!_

_Voices, harsh, laughing voices calling at him, shouting at him._

_Hands, grabbing him, punching him._

_A knife in his side._

_Something tore his back._

_Pictures._

_Something was coming for him. That room . . ._

_He was in it. Tied to the bars._

_Randall . . . _

_Reiner . . ._

_Hochstetter . . . _

_Laughing._

_Something was coming for him. Something . . ._

_He screamed!_

The scream tore from his throat as he jerked awake. Then he was crying. He couldn't stop crying.

Something, someone was there. His hand, something had his hand. Desperate, tears on his face, he tried to pull it away.

"It's all right," someone said softly. "It's over."

_Over? It'll never be over. Never!_ He had sobbed the words into the pillow.

Someone was holding his head against a shoulder. "It's over," the voice murmured. "You're with me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

A broken whisper, "Robert?"

"Yes," still the comforting voice. "Shhh."

"Robert," he breathed the name, his sobs quieting. He let himself be held against that comforting shoulder, let himself hear the soothing words.

The tears slowly stopped; his eyes closed. And it was quiet once more in the dark room.

...

Doctor Ernst Bauer entered the camp just after dawn, getting a friendly greeting from the guards at the gate. Yawning, he got out of the car and walked up the stairs into the Kommandant's quarters.

Schultz was snoring loudly on the sofa. The doctor smiled at him, letting him sleep.

Bauer walked to the guest bedroom, quietly opened the door and looked inside. He went no further.

Light was just filtering into the shuttered room. Colonel Hogan was getting up from beside the bed, his hand still holding the sleeping Kommandant's. There was an unexpectedly gentle expression on Hogan's face.

Soundlessly, Bauer closed the door. He walked back to the living room, back to the front door. With an apologetic glance at Schultz, Bauer slammed the door loudly.

With a start, Schultz awoke. "Who goes there?!"

"It is all right, Sergeant Schultz," Bauer said in a normal speaking voice. "I am sorry I awakened you."

Schultz glanced at his watch. "You are early, Herr Doktor."

The doctor smiled tiredly. "One of my patients decided to arrive a little earlier than anticipated, Sergeant. I thought I would check on the Kommandant before going home for some sleep."

Schultz smiled. "Is the patient a little boy or a little girl?"

"A boy, Sergeant. A fine healthy boy."

"His papa will be pleased."

Sadness on the doctor's face. "His papa was reported missing three months ago."

Schultz sighed heavily. "Missing." And shook his head sadly.

"Has the Kommandant awakened, Sergeant?" Bauer asked.

"For a few minutes, Herr Doktor. And he has had a little soup, not much."

Bauer nodded and walked back to the bedroom.

Hogan, his unshaven face drawn, opened the door. "Morning, Doctor."

"Guten Morgen, Colonel," Bauer said in a low voice. "Is he awake?"

Hogan shook his head. "He woke up a few times during the night."

"And how was he?"

"He had some water, some soup. Not long ago, he had a nightmare but he fell asleep again."

Bauer nodded, not surprised. "He will have dreams for a while. I suspect he has had such dreams for months."

Hogan nodded, his eyes going to the sleeping man.

Bauer walked over to the bed. Klink appeared to be deeply asleep. It did not matter; Bauer could examine him just as easily. And sleep was what the Kommandant needed.

Bauer placed his bag on the table beside the bed. His gentle hands carefully lifted the bandage covering Klink's back. He took it off completely.

"Colonel Hogan," he said softly, "I would like hot water and small clean towels."

Hogan nodded and left. He returned a few minutes later; Schultz came with him.

"Do you need any help, Herr Doktor?" Schultz asked.

"Nein, danke," Bauer answered as he set to work.

Schultz and Hogan watched silently as the doctor cleansed Klink's ripped back with the water first and then with alcohol. Klink stirred. The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle and a syringe. An injection. Klink stopped moving; Bauer finished his examination.

"He will sleep for several hours," the doctor said as he packed his bag. "I will be back then."

"It's bad, isn't it?" Hogan asked.

Bauer shrugged. "The flesh has been torn. It makes it more difficult to heal. We can hope there will be no infection."

"If there is, we can have some penicillin flown in."

"Penicillin? Was ist . . . What is penicillin?"(1)

"A miracle drug from the States. Clears up infections in no time."

"Such a drug exists?"

Hogan nodded.

"Wunderbar." A glow lit Bauer's eyes. "To see such a drug . . . For a doctor, it would be truly a miracle, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan smiled faintly. "Would you like some coffee, Doctor?"

"Danke, Colonel Hogan."

Bauer followed Hogan into the kitchen; Schultz had tidied it up. Hogan poured a couple of cups of coffee and carried it over to the small table.

Bauer sat down and sipped his coffee gratefully. Then he looked at Hogan. "Colonel, from the little I have been told, have seen, I would say the Kommandant is a strong man, is he not?"

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, the strongest I've known."

"Has he," Bauer asked hesitantly, "has he let himself be less than strong?"

Hogan was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Colonel," Bauer said softly, "is that even strong men must admit to human weakness. For their own sakes. Otherwise, when they least expect it, they may be . . . overcome."

Bauer had given up expecting an answer when Hogan said, "Yes," in a low voice.

Bauer waited patiently.

"After the cave-in," Hogan said in a barely audible voice, "in the hospital, he was dreaming when I walked in. Then later, when he, uh, left for a few days." Bauer's eyes stayed on him, guessing at the time. "And not that long ago, he admitted that he panicked and ran."

"But he came back," Bauer said.

Hogan nodded. "I didn't think he'd come back alive," he whispered.

"But he did," Bauer said.

A bitter, "And look what happened to him!"

"He is alive, Colonel," Bauer said softly. "Thanks to you. And with your help, he will recover. Perhaps, with his help, you will too," Bauer added gently.

A startled look at the doctor.

Bauer rose. "I must go. I have other patients to see. I will come back later, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan also stood. "I would appreciate it if you would ask Herr Hausner, the Bürgermeister, Chief Krueger and Monsignor Geisler to come back with you this afternoon. I think we have some things to talk about."

Bauer nodded. "I will ask them. I would also suggest, Colonel, that you get some sleep. Tired, you will be of little use to yourself or the men in your command. If you would like something to help you sleep . . . ?"

Hogan shook his head. "Thanks." A wan smile. "I don't think I'll have trouble falling asleep."

"As you wish. Until later, Colonel Hogan." Bauer bowed slightly and left.

A few minutes later, Hogan also left Klink's quarters, leaving Schultz to watch his Kommandant.

"Colonel Hogan!" Witton hailed him.

Hogan stopped and waited for Witton and Mitchell to reach him. Both men looked concerned.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

"We're not sure, Colonel," Witton said. "We seem to be missing a man and a jeep."

"Who?"

"Sergeant Chaykin," Mitchell said. "He and some of his friends got drunk in town last night. About half a mile from here, Chaykin got sick in the jeep. His pals left him with the jeep and walked back. But Chaykin never showed up."

Hogan frowned as Mitchell continued, "We've backtracked the road nearly to Hammelburg. No sign of him or the jeep."

"We'd like your permission to inform Chief Krueger and ask for his help," Witton said.

Hogan nodded. "You've got it. But I don't want any civilians confronting Chaykin. If they find him, they're to call you immediately. Then send some men to get him."

"Agreed, sir."

Hogan nodded and went to his barracks for a nap.

...

Hogan awakened, feeling refreshed, from a dreamless sleep. He walked into the common room. Witton, Mitchell and Martin were there.

"It wasn't your fault, Kinch," Newkirk was saying. He stopped as he saw Hogan.

Hogan greeted them and sat at the table as LeBeau served him a late lunch.

"Anything wrong?" Hogan asked, looking from one man to the other as he picked up a fork.

"We found Chaykin, Colonel," Witton said.

Hogan looked at him expectantly.

"He's dead."

"And it's my fault," Kinch said softly.

"No, it's not," Witton said firmly. "It could have happened to any of us."

"What happened?" Hogan asked.

Kinch opened his mouth and shut it as Witton shook his head.

"We got a call a little after ten," Witton said. "One of Krueger's men found the jeep. It was stuck in the mud more than halfway up the drive leading to the River View Lodge. I took some men, including Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal Newkirk, and we went to take a look. At the lodge door, Frau Engel greeted us."

"She'd been beaten, Colonel," Newkirk said. "Tried to hide it with some makeup."

"Tried lying to us too," Witton said. "Turned out Chaykin had a gun on her kids.

"We played along. And then snuck back through the woods. We found Chaykin on the terrace, stinking drunk — he'd been in the liquor supply. When he saw us, he grabbed Frau Engel, using her as a hostage. That's when it happened."

"What?" asked Hogan, shooting a glance at Kinch who looked sick and withdrawn as he sat on the bench.

"Her eldest, a boy of twelve," Witton said evenly. "He grabbed Chaykin from behind. Chaykin backhanded him with the gun. Sent him head first into the wall. But that let Frau Engel get away from him and let us move in on Chaykin.

"Chaykin managed to take off into the trees. He didn't listen when I ordered him to stop. And he didn't pay attention to where he was going. He slipped and slid off the edge of the cliff."

"I got to him first, Colonel," Kinch said in a low voice. "He was hanging over the drop, caught on some roots. I reached for him. Tried to get him to take my hand . . . "

"But Chaykin panicked," Witton said. "He was screaming and thrashing around."

"I lunged at him," Kinch said. "Managed to grab his sleeve. Tried to pull him up. But he fell."

"And nearly took you with him," Newkirk said. "If I hadn't piled on your legs, you'd have slipped over too. And that's the God's honest truth, Colonel."

"I agree," Witton said.

Hogan nodded. "You said Chaykin hit a boy?"

"Frau Engel's eldest, Stefan."

"How is he?"

"We don't know, Colonel. The boy hit the wall hard. He was bleeding and unconscious. We used a walkie-talkie to notify Olsen in town. He called Doctor Bauer. Bauer was there when we left; the boy was still unconscious."

Hogan shook his head. "We're not exactly making friends in town."

"It was worse than that, Colonel," Mitchell said. "It seems Chaykin found out what we were doing to Randall's men when they got back to camp. He was mean, drunk and scared when he decided to hide at the lodge. He took it out on Frau Engel; raped her too. And she knew he'd hurt the kids if she said anything."

Hogan nodded. But he was looking at Kinch. Kinch had withdrawn into himself. Chaykin's death, a death Kinch felt responsible for, was hitting him hard.

"You didn't kill him, Kinch," Hogan said quietly.

"If I'd just held on — !"

"Don't, Ivan," Hogan said even more quietly. "Remember what you told me at the cabin before we found Klink? Don't blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault." His eyes met Kinch's. "Follow your own good advice, my friend."

Kinch looked at him for a long time before nodding slowly. "I'll try, Colonel."

Hogan smiled faintly. "Good."

The bunk to the tunnel rattled loudly.

Baker came up from the tunnel, holding a piece of paper. "London, Colonel."

The men exchanged worried looks. There could still be hell to pay for what had happened.

Hogan took the sheet and read it silently. And he reread it. Then he looked at Baker.

Baker smiled. "I kept asking them to repeat the last part. By the third time, they were a little annoyed."

"What's it say, Colonel?" Martin asked.

Hogan read, "'Action approved. You are in command until new commanding officer appointed.'" He passed the note to Witton.

Witton whistled as he saw who it was from — Dwight D. Eisenhower, SHAEF. "You have friends in high places, Colonel."

A rueful grin. "I don't think I'm the one with the friends."

Mitchell stared at the note. "We knew he was important, but he's that important?"

"Must be." Hogan smiled, his good humor returning. "When he gets out of bed, he's gonna have some explaining to do."

...

Doctor Bauer returned later in the day with the four men. By then, the living quarters were in much better shape than they had been earlier.

Hogan, looking more rested, greeted the men. They waited patiently while Bauer checked on his patient.

Bauer came back, pleased with the Kommandant's condition. "He is coming along nicely. There appears to be no infection and the tissues are beginning to heal."

Hogan visibly relaxed. "Shall we get started, gentlemen?"

The men sat at the table; Hilda sat on the sofa, ready to take notes. Gruber was there, as well as Witton and Martin.

Hogan listened as the men, often emotionally, recounted what had happened in town since Randall's arrival.

Hogan formally apologized to the men for the Allied soldiers' behavior. An apology that was accepted by the four men for the town.

"And they will be punished," Hogan added. "When your people feel up to it, I would like descriptions of the men who committed the crimes so we can deal with them. I will also need statements from the injured people and any witnesses."

"We will be able to provide those shortly, Colonel Hogan," Scheinfeld promised. "But our people are very nervous, Colonel. And," he hesitated, "we have a request."

"What is it?"

"That your men stay away from the town," Hausner said bluntly.

"That's kind of harsh, isn't it?" Hogan said slowly.

"Perhaps." Geisler's tone was placating. "But for now our people are badly frightened. And not very trusting. If you insist on sending your men to town, their reception will be, to put it mildly, cool."

"All right," Hogan said. "I admit I don't like it, but I'll abide by your wishes."

"Danke schön, Colonel," Scheinfeld said gratefully; he hadn't expected Hogan to agree.

"Now I have a request," Hogan said. The men looked at him. "I think it would be best for everyone if we go back to the routine we had established before Randall," they could hear the hate in his voice, "showed up. Captain Gruber and his men keep on doing what they were doing." A glance at Gruber, who nodded. "Does everyone agree?"

There were nods from the townspeople.

"Any other questions or problems?" Hogan asked. The others shook their heads. "Okay. Then I suggest we put everything else on hold until the Kommandant is well enough to join us."

"Agreed," Scheinfeld said promptly and stood. "Guten Tag, Colonel Hogan, meine Herren."

The others stood as well and said goodbye.

"Doctor," Hogan said, escorting Bauer to the door, "how's the Engel boy?"

Bauer shook his head. "He has regained consciousness. But it is too soon to tell what injuries he has."

"He hit his head?"

Bauer nodded. "But he was hit with a gun first. Here." He touched his upper forehead at the hairline. "Then he hit the back of his head on the wall. Either injury could have caused a skull fracture and internal bleeding. Without an X-ray, there is no way to tell. All I can do is observe him for the next few days."

"I hope he'll be okay. Sounds like a brave kid, tackling Chaykin that way."

Bauer nodded. "He is. And with his father gone, he had been a great help to his mother. And a great comfort. Now . . . " Bauer shook his head. "I will be back tomorrow morning, Colonel."

"Thanks, Doctor."

"Auf Wiedersehen, Colonel."

"Auf Wiedersehen."

Now only Hogan and Schultz remained.

Hogan glanced around. "It's looking better, Schultz."

"Danke, Colonel Hogan. There is soup on the stove. Would you like to take it to the Kommandant?"

Hogan nodded and waited until Schultz returned with a tray.

Hogan took the tray into the darkened room and placed it on the nightstand. Klink stirred as he did so. Hogan knelt beside the bed.

Klink's eyes opened; Hogan smiled at him. "Hi."

A wan smile in return.

"How about some soup? LeBeau just made it."

A nod.

Hogan smiled and stood. Carefully, he eased Klink on his side, his head bolstered by several pillows. Then Hogan knelt again and picked up the bowl of soup. He dipped the spoon into the soup and held it to Klink's lips.

"There's some meat in here," Hogan said after awhile. "Think you're ready for it?"

A faint whisper, "Later."

"Whenever you're ready," Hogan said, continuing to give him the soup.

After a few more spoonfuls, Klink's eyes closed. Hogan put the soup bowl back on the tray. Then the blue eyes opened for a moment.

"Want me to leave?" Hogan asked.

A shake of the head; a faint, "No."

"I can't stay all night," Hogan said in a light voice. "I need my beauty sleep."

A smile fluttered on Klink's lips. "Just a little . . . " His voice faded as his eyes closed again.

Hogan sat down in the easy chair beside the bed.

When Schultz walked in later, both men were fast asleep. With a smile, Schultz left the room.

...

The next couple of days passed uneventfully.

Doctor Bauer came over a couple of times a day to check on his patient. Schultz continued to keep jealous watch over his Kommandant, letting no one save for Hogan and Doctor Bauer near him. After that first day, Hogan spent less time with Klink, though visiting him frequently to assure himself that Klink was getting better. He now had other things to worry about.

Randall's men, including the MPs from Barracks 79, had been rounded up and were either in the barracks or in the cooler. Most of them, once the depositions from the town had been taken and the guilty identified, would probably be freed. But for now, Hogan was too angry to pay them any attention.

Gruber and the former guards, helped by Captains Witton and Martin, along with some of the former prisoners, took care of the day-to-day operations in the camp.

During those days, Schultz, along with a couple of German privates, restored order to the Kommandant's quarters. During those days, Klink slept.

...

It was morning, an unexpectedly clear, sunny morning, and for the first time Klink made an appearance. It wasn't much of an appearance. He was dressed in loose gym clothes, sitting on the railing of the porch with a cup of coffee in his hands, looking over the compound.

As Hogan walked over, a couple of British soldiers saluted as they walked by. Klink absently returned the salute, looking puzzled after he did so.

"Should you be out of bed?" Hogan demanded in greeting.

A very faint smile. "Schultz is airing it out," he explained. "As soon as it's done, I'm going back."

"Good."

Klink looked at the cup in his hand. "I don't think I've thanked you yet."

"Don't mention it." A smile. "Are we even yet?"

Klink smiled faintly. "I think after this we are. Even if we weren't," he added to Hogan's annoyance. "How much trouble are you in?"

A wide grin. "I'm glad you asked."

Klink looked at him.

"This came a couple of days ago." Hogan handed him the note.

Klink read it silently, feeling Hogan's eyes on him. "I, uh, I've never met him. I don't know why he should get involved."

"Uh, huh."

"I've just had some dealings with his staff."

"Right."

Klink started to hand the note back.

"Keep it. For your scrapbook."

"I do not have a scrapbook."

Hogan grinned. "I'll bet Schultz does. See you later, Kommandant."

With a smile in his eyes, Klink watched him leave. Then he looked puzzled as another group of former prisoners saluted him when they walked by.

* * *

1 We're so used to penicillin and other antibiotics that we can't fully appreciate what penicillin meant to doctors, and patients, during WWII. Before 1944, sulfa was the only effective way to treat infections. However, its use back then was still fairly limited and not very efficient. And people would die from something as minor as a scratch from a rose bush.

The first antibiotic, penicillin, was indeed a miracle drug in 1945. Though discovered by Alexander Fleming in 1928, years of experimentation by scientists produced only enough penicillin for limited laboratory testing. It wasn't until Dr. Howard Florey and Dr. Ernst Chain of Oxford University in England began experimenting with it before the war that its potential for treating and curing infections came to be appreciated.

Since facilities to produce amounts that could be tested on patients were hampered by the war in Europe, Dr. Florey contacted the U.S. Committee on Medical Research for help in 1940. But it wasn't until 1942 when a new method of producing penicillin was found that amounts large enough to test on human patients became available.

By 1943, enough was produced to test the drug on 100 injured soldiers. The results were so favorable that they convinced the U.S. government to invest the money to produce massive amounts of the drug. Eventually, enough penicillin was produced to send with medics and doctors on D-day in June 1944. However, there were still storage and production problems. Except for a few isolated instances, its use was restricted to the military as penicillin was very sensitive, difficult to produce, had to be given in a series of injections, and would only keep a couple of weeks under refrigeration. One tedious way of producing it involved extracting it from the urine of soldiers who'd been given it.

In short, Dr. Bauer and other German doctors would have had no knowledge of penicillin or other antibiotics. Other antibiotics didn't exist, and penicillin was available only for Allied military personnel. It wasn't until after the war that it became available for civilian use.


	15. Chapter 15

Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 15

A couple of days later, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink, in uniform and away from his quarters for the first time, was walking across the compound.

"Good morning, sir," greeted an American lieutenant as he saluted.

"Good morning," Klink said, automatically returning the salute as he continued on his way. Then he stopped, looking back at the lieutenant with a bemused expression.

"Good day, sir," from a trio of Englishmen, along with snappy salutes

"Good day . . . " His voice faded as he registered the salutes. Baffled, he glanced back at them.

"Bonjour, Kommandant." A group of Frenchman marched in formation, and also saluted.

"Bon . . . "

By the time he located Hogan in the recreation hall, Klink was extremely confused.

In the recreation hall, Hogan was sitting with Witton and Martin, nursing a cup of coffee. Around them, several dozen men played darts, checkers, pool, cards and other games or just talked. In the background, the radio played lively music.

Klink appeared at the door.

"'Tention!" Then almost immediately, "At ease."

It happened in seconds, but it stopped Klink in his tracks.

Hogan stood and walked over to him. "What can I do for you, Kommandant?"

Klink looked uncertain, rather like his old persona, as all eyes in the room seemed to be on him. "I'd like to talk to you, Colonel Hogan. Alone."

"Of course, Kommandant."

The two men stepped outside and out of the way of the men going into the hall. They stopped near a window. Neither noticed that it was partially open.

"All right, Hogan." The men inside could hear Klink's voice. "What is going on?" Without the least bit of shame, the men inside listened.

"What are you talking about?" Hogan asked.

A couple of men walked by, saluted and kept on walking.

"That is what I am talking about!"

"Huh?"

"In the past hour," Klink managed to lower his voice, "I have seen more salutes than I had seen in a month. In one day, more than I saw in a whole year. What is going on?"

"Just military courtesy, sir," Hogan said innocently.

"Military cour . . . Hah!" The old Klink voice reasserted itself. "What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"Hogan." Klink's voice was filled with warning.

"All I did was tell a story."

"Story? What story?"

"You wouldn't know it, sir. It's about an American hero."

"American hero?"

"Yes, sir. A guy named Zorro. You see this guy, Zorro — "

"I know the story!" Klink snapped. "What has . . . ?" He broke off. He sounded aghast when they heard him again. "You didn't?"

"It's only a story, sir," Hogan said innocently.

"And . . . " Klink's voice cracked. He cleared it. "And to whom did you tell this story?"

"The entire camp. You see, we were getting bored so we put on a radio show and — "

"The entire . . . " Klink's voice faded as the listening men's grins grew.

Then, after a long silence . . .

"Colonel Hogan." A stern, military tone. "You are the most exasperating, irritating . . . infuriating man I have ever met. You have no concept of military discipline, even less of military security. And any general unlucky enough to have you around will regret it for the rest of his life!"

Hogan grinned. "You're absolutely right, sir." He leaned against the building and looked at Klink.

Klink stared at him.

Finally . . .

"I do not know why I bother." The irritation, the old Klink voice, was gone. Just the quiet tone with a touch of humor in it that few of the others had ever heard remained.

Hogan smiled. "I don't know why you do either. Just enjoy it. It's long overdue. Think you're up to a game of chess?"

"My place?"

"What's wrong with here?" Hogan said. "There's a chess set somewhere."

Klink sighed. "Why not?"

By the time the two men returned, the others in the hall were busily occupied. A chess set had mysteriously appeared on a table near the door.

There was a replay of Klink's prior entrance as they entered the hall.

Klink sighed as they walked over to the table with the chess set. As they sat, Klink said, "Do you think you could not do that? It is very disconcerting."

Hogan smiled. "Oh, I think we could manage that."

"Good." Klink removed his cap and placed it beside the set. "You may have the first move."

"You're all heart, Kommandant."

A small smile. "I believe that title is now properly yours, Colonel," said the quiet voice.

"Let's just keep the titles as they were, shall we? Your move."

Their game attracted a small audience. This was the first time that most of them had seen the two play. In the old days, most of the men knew that Hogan had let the Kommandant win. But now they realized Hogan had to work at not losing too quickly.

The radio continued to play in the background. Whenever the music stopped, the sound was turned up in case there were any important announcements. Now it was time for a kind of gossipy good news about the war.

After a few minutes, the voice said: "And in the world of daring raids, this was just declassified. When the Allies made their advance on Germany's borders, they got welcome help from the resistance. In one of the most brilliantly timed operations of the war, nineteen units of a mysterious resistance leader," eyes swung to the chess players, "stopped the Nazis from destroying vital bridges and roads. They also blew up several munitions dumps and fuel depots. It is rumored that the leader of the organization personally led one of the units. And in other news . . . "

Hogan leaned closer to Klink. "Should I even bother asking?"

A smile played on Klink's lips. "You're a bright boy, Colonel. You should be able to figure it out."

Hogan thought a minute. "The last staff meeting."

Klink nodded and moved a piece.

Hogan smiled. "Busy meeting."

"The meeting was dull; the night was busy."

Hogan was a surprised by his candor. "Congratulations. Nice job."

"Not as nice as it should have been," was the rejoinder.

Hogan looked at him.

"No one talks about the failures," Klink said quietly. "There were supposed to be twenty-five units involved. Three couldn't reach their targets; another three were caught. Five men were killed immediately and the rest were taken to concentration camps. Six others died that night." He looked at Hogan. "One of them should have been me."

Around them, the listening men exchanged somber looks.

"What happened?" Hogan asked.

"A patrol where one was not supposed to be. I was pushed out of the way; someone else died."

"I'm sorry," Hogan said.

A sober smile. "As I said, no one ever hears about the failures. When people die, I do not consider it a success."

Play continued silently for a while.

"By the way," Hogan asked, "you never said what happened at the meeting."

A faint smile. "We were planning the evacuations of our camps."

"Including this one?"

"Of course."

"I think you blew it, Kommandant."

"I am certain that is what General Burkhalter thinks," Klink said dryly.

"It's a good thing he didn't decide to come and help things along," Hogan said with a smile.

A fleeting smile. "If he had, he would have gotten the shock of his life. But I think he had more important things to worry about."

"Like his neck?"

"I am certain that crossed his mind."

"You never really considered evacuating the camp, did you?" Hogan asked.

"Of course not. But Burkhalter had to think I did." He looked at Hogan. "Instead, I evacuated, so to speak, some of the guards."

"But most stayed."

"Most stayed."

"I hope none are regretting it," Hogan said softly.

"Now, no," Klink said just as softly.

Play continued silently for a few minutes.

"Did you ever think about leaving?" Hogan finally asked.

A pause and then a nod. "Yes," was the quiet reply.

The others exchanged surprised looks.

"After all, the war is not over. There is more than enough to do."

"Why didn't you?" Hogan asked.

"A few years ago, even a few months ago, I probably would have," Klink admitted. "Now, I'm too tired to run around the countryside. And that's what it would have meant if I left the camp. I reasoned here I would have access to your radio, even if I were restricted to the camp. I didn't think I would be completely cut off from the rest of the camp."

"Or nearly killed." The bitterness was back in Hogan's voice.

"Or nearly killed," Klink said evenly. "Do remind me to complain to London."

Hogan managed a small smile.

A few more moves.

"By the way, Colonel," Klink asked in his old kommandant voice. "When are you going to get to all those papers piling up in the office?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Hogan said as Witton and Martin grimaced.

"Me?" Klink sounded shocked. "They are not my papers. Every single piece of quadruplicate is in English. And all to the attention of the commanding officer." His eyes glowed with amusement as he looked at Hogan. "I believe that is now you."

"Well, I'm delegating it to you."

"Surely you're joking. Under the Geneva Prisoner of War — "

"You're quoting the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention!"

"Of course, I am," Klink retorted as the others grinned. "You've quoted it to me often enough. I am now a prisoner of war. And I am not going to do your paperwork, Colonel. I've done more than my share of it over the years, thank you. Besides, I'd like to see you try to explain to Allied High Command that a German colonel is doing your paperwork."

"Well, they can do it." Hogan waved at Witton and Martin.

They wanted to protest, but Klink was doing it for them. "You cannot give it to them until you've looked at it yourself. By the way, who is the duty officer for the day?"

"Uh," Hogan floundered.

A smile played on Klink's lips. "I wondered how far you thought out your little mutiny. There is more to running a camp than deciding you are in charge. Food must ordered, supplies requisitioned, transportation and communications arranged, work details assigned. In short, everything."

"Gruber's doing all of that."

An exaggerated sigh. "Captain Gruber is also covered by the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention. It is high time you started doing something around here besides playing chess." Klink stood. "Come along, Colonel. We'll manage to make a staff officer out of you yet."

"But," Hogan protested, wanting to delay the inevitable, "we haven't finished the game."

"Oh." Klink looked at the board and moved his knight. "Checkmate."

Hogan stared in disbelief at the pieces as the men around him stifled laughs.

Klink picked up his cap. "Coming, Colonel?"

Hogan slowly pushed back his chair and stood.

Klink was almost at the door; he waited for Hogan.

"You're enjoying this," Hogan accused.

Klink opened the door and considered. "Yes, I am," he admitted with a smile. "Coming?"

"Coming," Hogan sighed and walked over to Klink. "How do I get myself into these things?" he muttered.

"You don't think things through. You rarely have . . . "

Klink's voice faded as they walked away from the building.

Inside, the men laughed. It looked like things were going to remain as interesting as ever.

...

Around the island that was Hammelburg and the camp, the war raged on. All along the Rhine, Allied armies continued their assault on German positions. There were no longer any German armies west of the river. Among the cities taken by the Allies on the Western Front were Bonn, Cologne, Koblenz, Saarbrücken, and Worms; most of them were in ruins. Patton's Third Army was nearing Frankfurt; Hodges' First Army was heading south from Cologne to meet up with them. In the north, the Canadian First Army, the British Second Army and the US Ninth Army were putting pressure on the Ruhr valley north of Düsseldorf.

In the east, Pomerania and western Prussia were under attack by General Zhukov's forces. Though Himmler's refusal to evacuate civilians had trapped over a million people behind Soviet lines, the German navy continued to evacuate troops and refugees all along the Baltic coast.

Thousands of bombing missions continued to rain death on cities and soldiers throughout Germany. Each day brought news of thousands of men surrendering, thousands of lives lost, countless towns and villages destroyed, hundreds of thousands of civilians forced from the remains of their homes, and even more fleeing from the fighting. But the worst was the news of the atrocities inflicted on civilians and soldiers by many of the Soviet troops.

Still the war continued as Hitler, now buried in his bunker in Berlin, refused to admit defeat while Germany hemorrhaged to death. Instead, he ordered a "scorched Earth" policy, demanding the destruction of German industry, transportation and utilities. Knowing the end was coming, the order was quietly sabotaged by Hitler's trusted minister Albert Speer and the soon-to-be-replaced Chief of Staff Guderian, along with most local commanders.

At Stalag Luft 13, the days passed peacefully. Klink was coaching Hogan in the art of running the camp. And Hogan, to his surprise, was actually starting to like it. Slowly, the duties of Klink's men were being taken over by the former prisoners, though not without some mild complaining. But, as Hogan was forced to admit, Randall had been right about one thing — it was time they started remembering they were soldiers.

A couple of days after Klink's appearance in the recreation hall, the townspeople came to the camp. In small groups, they went into Klink's quarters and told their stories.

Hogan stayed in the background, letting Klink take over the questioning. The torture he'd suffered at Randall's hands gave Klink a kinship with the townspeople who had been hurt. They responded to him with openness whereas with Hogan they might have been belligerent. With the raped women, Klink showed a sensitivity, a gentleness that had surprised Hogan. His quiet questions and sympathy drew out details that the women might not have otherwise told. When the townspeople left that day, any lingering doubts they may have had about the former Kommandant of the camp had vanished.

And any doubts they may have had about the guilty going unpunished were dispelled as Hogan ordered the arrest of the dozen men who had committed the rapes and the beatings. Another two were arrested for the severe damage they had caused. The rest, some four or five men, would make restitution for the damage they'd caused while drunk.

The twenty-eight men from Barracks 79 who had served as MPs under Randall were moved out of the barracks and scattered throughout the rest of the camp. It soon became clear to them that their behavior while part of Yeager's gang had created a great deal of ill will among the rest of the men. And it became even clearer that any missteps on their part would land them in cells adjacent to the nine of their former bunkmates awaiting trial in the cooler.

The other men who had come in with Randall were freed from the barracks they had been locked in since the night Hogan took over. Captain Witton took charge of the men and told them what had happened and what was expected of them. There was some grumbling about the treatment they'd received, grumbling that was silenced as Hogan unexpectedly walked in and apologized to them for lumping them in with the rest of Randall's men. His apology, along with the story they'd heard, served to defuse their animosity. Now they looked with curiosity at the man who had led that secret escape and sabotage group from the camp. Even more curious glances were directed at the unassuming former Kommandant of the camp who had approved that secret resistance group. And slowly those men were absorbed into the life of the camp, their skills coming in very handy.

Doctor Bauer had stopped going to the camp. Instead, Klink, driven by Schultz, went to see him. There were no murmurings as the doctor saw Klink ahead of other waiting patients. Nor did Hogan complain when Klink's excursions took a lot longer than the trip to the doctor should have taken. Nor was Hogan surprised to see additional mileage being added to the speedometer.

"Cabin still there?" he asked with a grin after Klink's first such excursion.

A silent smile was his reply.

* * *

To be continued, eventually, in _Theater of War: Act Five_, which will cover the period from mid-March to mid-April

And later in _Theater of War: Act Six_, which will cover the end of the war and beyond

* * *

**Acknowledgements**

Many, many thanks to Mel Hughes and LaVerne Cash who graciously let me borrow characters and situations from their _**HH**_ stories. They also allowed me to bounce ideas off them and helped in the editing and proofing of _Act Four_.

Special thanks to Reverend Ken Tipton who is the real life counterpart of LaVerne's Ken Tiptoe for allowing me to "borrow" him.

Thanks also to Barbara Musser and Malisa Myers for their comments and suggestions.

A "danke schön" to Susanne Hassler who proofed the German speakers' speech patterns and language.

And finally, many thanks to the wonderfully creative people who were responsible for _**Hogan's Heroes**_. Especially the late Werner Klemperer whose brilliant portrayal of Wilhelm Klink led to the creation of the Stage.

**A Word or Two**

Any story dealing with _**Hogan's Heroes**_ must of necessity include fiction and an element or two of fantasy. However, I have tried to incorporate real history where possible. The details about the war, battles, occupied cities, etc. have been culled from a variety of sources.

The behavior of Randall and his men, sad to say, emulated the behavior of some real life Americans and Allied soldiers. And their behavior was mild compared to the atrocities that were committed against soldiers and civilians, particularly against women, by numerous Soviet soldiers. In fairness, it must be said that the Germans' behavior, particularly SS behavior, as they advanced east was often horrific. However, as various sources pointed out, the Soviets from Stalin down actively abetted the brutality committed by many in the Soviet armed forces. And such brutality was not committed solely against the enemy; the Soviet people and soldiers also suffered from it.

Those civilians who weren't personally brutalized by the soldiers of the Allied armies still suffered horribly from the bombings, the loss of their homes and possessions, deprivation (including starvation), and being forced from their homes in one of the most brutal winters of the century. Beevor's _The Fall of Berlin 1945 _and Botting's _From the Ruins of the Reich, Germany 1945 – 1949_, among others, give vivid descriptions of the fate of the civilians caught up in the war and its aftermath. They are not easy reading.

**The Area of the Camp – "The Ruhr Pocket"**

The fictional Stalag Luft 13 was located, as noted in numerous episodes, near a town not far from Düsseldorf in northwestern Germany. That area was one of the last holdouts of the German forces in the West during WWII. The Ruhr industrial area, which included Düsseldorf, was vital to the German war effort and economy, and it was not easily given up. Field Marshall Walter Model's Army Group B and its 300,000 men held the Ruhr long after the Allies had overrun other western areas. Eventually surrounded by Allied forces in early April, the area continued to be bitterly contested.


End file.
